Tokens
by The Erudite
Summary: Morgan wants to know more about her mother and father, but they're both such busy people. She has to rely on simple stories they can tell in between the times they're together. For this paticular subject, however, Morgan's patience and persistence know no bounds. Series of Robin X Anna one-shots, to be updated at random.
1. Tokens

"Father?" the tactician recognized the familiar voice before the mop of maroon hair appeared before him, as if out of thin air.

He slapped the book he was reading shut, careful to mark his spot, "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"I can't sleep," she remarked plaintively, "will you tell me a story?"

"You're a little old for bedtime stories of heroes and damsels in distress, aren't you, Morgan?" he patted her head as she stepped next to him.

"I guess, but what about a different kind of story?" she suggested.

"Such as?"

"I'd like to hear more about you and mother. It might help my memory," she smiled.

"You already know how we met, when I proposed, we told you about the wedding…" he listed, "what else do you still want to know?"

"I was hoping you could fill some of the gaps in between. Like, for example, you and mother have both said you had some kind of conversation that made you interested in each other the evening you met. Tell me about that."

"All right," he resigned, sighing, "but, be honest, Morgan: this has nothing to do with you being unable to sleep, right?"

"Not in the least," she nodded, hopping onto his bed. He sighed again.

[*]

The tactician ran a gloved hand through his hair, feeling the cool and textured leather along his scalp. The hand dropped. He sighed with fatigue. Pressing the hand back onto the old oak desk that sat in front of him, he examined the pile of papers that assailed his eyes. He couldn't even begin to focus on the dreaded things. Still, it was his line of work, now, there was nothing to do for it. Praying for a distraction, the tactician took note of how far the candle he had set out had burned down, as it was nearly consumed by a pool of its own wax by this point. The flame was low, and the color flailed limply in the dark that was quickly encompassing the walls of the tent. Taking a pen in his hand exasperatedly, the young tactician began to take a note: "Predicted high-level resistance, likely the force will need to be divided into two to effectively deal with opposition. Ask Stahl and Sully if able to lead north force. Keep an eye on Chrom, his rage may make him foolish."

Suddenly, a sound. The light tap of a boot. The tactician sprang to his feet and removed the small blade he had so carefully hidden in his sleeve.

"Eek!"the red-haired woman before him squealed.

"Oh,"the tactician breathed, stowing away the blade, "It's you. Gods, don't sneak up on me like that."

"I kinda need to," she smirked, though her voice shook, "I wasn't even sure if anyone else was allowed in this tent."

"They're not, ordinarily," the tactician made his tone very distinct.

"Oh, pffft," the merchant girl stuck her tongue out at him, "don't give me that. I was just checking up on you. You do remember saving my life earlier today, right?"

"I just made things easier, you could've handled them," he sighed, sitting back down.

"I was trying to compliment you, sheesh," she shrugged. Receiving no response, she glanced over his shoulder, staring down at the papers: an unintelligible mass of scribbling and crossed-out notes, a large "X" here and there, names, lists; were Anna not so used to her own vast inventory, the cacophony of writing might have been enough to make her nauseous. "I see the stories are true; you work non-stop. You are the tactician I've heard so much about, right? Robin?"

"That's right," he acceded quickly.

"Do you remember my name?" she tapped her index finger to her bottom lip.

He paused, still not looking at her, "I don't know that you actually provided me with it."

"Oh, gods curse me, you're right. I only talked with the captain, a few of the girls, and that weird guy who kept bugging me for candy. I'm Anna, or Anna the Merchant, if you prefer, though most folks who aren't so privileged as to know my name call me 'The Secret Seller.'"

"'The Secret Seller?'" he repeated, "Did your six-year-old niece come up with that, or something?"

"Hey!"she scolded indignantly, "I like that title!" The tactician made a scoffing laugh and returned to his work. She smirked sidelong at the tactician,"So… whatcha doin'?"

"Sorry,"he sighed, not acknowledging her, "can we talk later? This is rather important."

"Later?"she chuckled, "The sun set almost eight hours ago, buddy. We stay awake much longer, and your 'later' is like to become 'early.'"

"Did you come in here just to make fun of me?" he looked back to her bemusedly.

"Maaaaybe…" she wound a lock of her hair around her finger, smirking.

"Great,"he smirked, too, "just what this army needed: a damned comedian."

"By some of the descriptions I've heard, it already had one," she crossed her arms.

"Really?"the tactician set his pen down, "I suppose I need to have a chat with a few of the troops."

She laughed. After a moment, she recovered her composure, "I really do want to thank you for today, though."

"It was the right thing to do. Anyone would have done it," he dismissed again, retrieving his pen.

"There it is again," she giggled at him, "just take the praise! Gods, you'd probably argue with me for saying you looked handsome out on the battlefield!"

The pen stopped again and he turned around, "You thought I looked handsome?"

Realizing her slip, she crossed her arms again, "In a totally platonic, friendly, pedestrian, just-saying-hi kinda way."

"Uh-huh,"he nodded sarcastically, "but 'handsome,' eh?"

She used the same tone, "I guess, if you're into the whole youthful boyish charm mixed in with a touch of workaholic."

"But, 'handsome,'" he insisted, grinning.

"You are the worst," she sighed resignedly, "Don't stay up too late, you bastard."

"Thanks, hate you, too," they both laughed as she proceeded out of the tent. For once, Anna found herself legitimately frustrated. It wasn't something she was accustomed to feeling; she always got the better of customers in the end, how had he managed to get one over on her, to make her feel like this? She shook her head; it was cold out, and she didn't mean to stand around in the frozen air until dawn.

[*]

"I don't get it," Morgan reported, "you were being pretty mean to each other."

"I suppose that's just how your mother and I are, Morgan," he smiled, picking her up off of the bed.

"But, all the romance novels I've read have the man and woman acting all mushy and constantly talking about how one makes the other feel. The ones that have the people talking most of the time, anyway, some of the others—"

Her father cut her off, "I think I might need to keep tighter tabs on what I let you read. And, anyway, Morgan, your mother and I are people, not characters in some book. We have our own personalities. Don't believe everything you read."

"Great,"came another voice, "does this mean I have _two _night owls in the family now?"

"Evening, honey," the tactician called out.

"Mother!"the little redhead chimed in, greeting her at the doorway with a tight hug.

"You,"she poked her daughter's nose, "are supposed to be in bed and fast asleep. Did your father drop the ball again?"

"Hey, hey, she stayed up all by herself, I didn't drop a thing," Robin defended.

"I'm not even tired, mom," she pleaded.

"Well, your mom is. Why don't you kiss you father goodnight and everyone can settle in for a nice, relaxing evening of sleep," Anna patted her daughter's back, facing her husband to show the weariness in her eyes.

"Do what your mom asks, honey," Robin encouraged.

"Aw,"she pouted, lowering her head dejectedly, "I just wanted to hear more about you two. I was hoping you could tell me a story, too, mom."

"A story? What story did your father tell you?" Anna raised an eyebrow.

"About the first conversation you shared," she said.

"He would tell that one," Anna quipped aside.

"but I didn't understand why it made you want to see father again. You were kind of mean to each other… are you both into that, or something? I've heard some couples enjoy hitting each other's—"

"Morgan!"her mother chided, "Your father and I will both thank you to stop thinking about that. Anyway, honey, what's the matter? Do you think your father and I don't love each other?"

"I…I don't know… sometimes you both seem really… tired," she explained.

"That's only from work, sweetie. We still love each other very much," Anna smiled. Her husband nodded fervently from the bed.

"So…will you tell me a story about you two, then?" her eyes glowed again.

"Kiddo, I love you, but, honestly, what else is there to tell? You've asked me for almost every detail of everything I could remember," Anna sighed.

"What about…" she paused to consider, "After the wedding ceremony? There are those big parties, right, and everyone dances? How was that?"

A smirk quickly developed over Anna's face, "Oh, gods, that's right! Your father…"

[*]

"Dance?"he repeated.

"That's what people do. That's what they'll be expecting," she nodded laboriously.

"May be we should defy expectations?" he laughed weakly.

"What are you getting all hot under the collar about, Robin?" she stared at him.

He scratched his neck, reminded of the collar of the outfit, "I can't dance, Anna. I never learned. Nor did I want to, if I'm honest…"

"Wha-?You're telling me this _now_?" she glared at him furiously.

"I wasn't aware this was some sort of tradition," he covered.

"Pegasus dung, you were at Chrom's wedding. You know exactly how these things go," she lectured.

"Yeah, but… I never danced," he admitted.

"Why not?" she wondered absentmindedly, "I mean, besides the fact that you didn't know how."

"No partner," he remarked somberly.

She took him in and, after a moment, sighed, "You just have to go and make everything difficult, don't you?"

He grinned knowingly, "Hey, you married me. I guess I'm just your burden from now on."

She held her head in her hands and laughed wryly, "This is going to _suck_."

"The dance, you mean?" he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"No, gods save me, the dance we can fake, at least. It's marrying you that's going to be the death of me," she smiled at him over her shoulder.

"Hey, now that's just plain mean," he pouted.

"Aw, I'm sorry, big guy," she lowered herself, "can't take a little joke from the wife?"

"You're right," he guffawed, "this _is_ going to suck."

"Robin, Anna?" Lissa called tentatively from the entryway to the chamber. "Oh, thank the gods, you're still decent," she breathed a relieved, if less quiet than intended, sigh.

"Everyone's still waiting for you guys."

"Just…"she stammered, holding his hand and staring into his eyes, "follow my lead, okay?"

The two proceeded out into the hall. Robin swallowed hard as he noted the presence of all his comrades, each staring at him with remarkable interest. All except for Tharja, anyway, who had obscured her face throughout the whole ceremony, clutching disbelief like a security blanket. Other than her, however, Robin felt himself shrink under the admittedly affable, but clearly bored gaze of the Exalt and the interested excitement in the eyes of his new wife. They took their place at the center of the stage, and without missing a beat, the sounds of an orchestra began with a burst that made Robin jump, somehow failing to notice them prior. After composing himself, he offered his hand to the redhead, who took it cautiously. As a few delicate strings were plucked on the harp, Robin took note of the rhythm, carefully cradling his wife's waist and swaying her to each side with each note. After a few seconds, his confidence slightly established, he began to step, once to each side, then back again and to the other. As he allowed himself to hear more of the musicians' sounds to reach him, Robin began to play with the sound in his mind, swaying in his steps. Here, back and forth, there to the left and after to the right, Robin couldn't believe it: he was enjoying himself. Maybe it had something to do with the view, he considered, staring into his wife's face, which appeared thoroughly confused.

"Remember when I told you to follow my lead?" she asked, leaning her head over his shoulder, whispering into the nape of his neck.

"Yes,"he deferred, "but now you're going to follow mine."

"You look like an idiot," she rolled her eyes, a smile painted on her face.

"So what does that make you?" he added.

Abruptly, she pulled away, yanking his hands and arms forward until their conjoined arms lay straight and parallel before them. A few inhalations and murmurs appeared from the crowd. She gripped her fingers through his and quickly wrapped her own arm around his waist, leading him in a circle. A few laughs escaped the collected Shepherds. Playing along, he tossed his head carelessly over her shoulder, doing all that he could to accentuate the gesture, endeavoring to flip his hair mockingly. She continued leading him, "In another life, you'd make quite a wonderful lady."

"So would you," he snickered, mirroring her by whispering down her neck. She placed her foot down, the heel of her shoe grinding into her husband's foot. With a wince, he apologized.

"You follow my lead, are we clear, buddy boy?" she cupped a hand to his cheek, appearing to cradle his head.

"Sorry,"he broke away in much the same manner she had, though this time, he released one of her hands and tugged the other over her head, "but I'm not used to being led around. Not good at following directions, you know?" He twisted his wrist slightly. She knew what it meant was expected of her and began to pirouette as best she was able, letting his surprisingly firm hand guide her momentum for a few rotations, then slowed to a halt facing him again. He bowed and kissed her hand as their audience clapped.

"Oh, yes, I know. Can't live without having the last word," she drew in close and let her palms fold around his collar, their foreheads nearly locked together.

"You know it," he gently held the back of her head and pushed it toward him for a kiss. A wave of admiring "aws" spread quickly through the women in the room, excepting, again, Tharja, who pantomimed vomiting.

The orchestra began to build their song to a crescendo, meaning it was time for the couple to wrap things up. A smirk on her face, Anna broke her husband's embrace, winding around to his back, placing an arm around his neck, first, to imitate choking, which elicited a few chuckles, then grasping at his shoulder and through the back of his hand, she leaned backward. He followed along again, letting himself be tossed back, feigning the face of a disaffected bride. The Shepherds broke out into raucous applause and bouts of laughter as the dance came to a halt. Robin bowed formally and his wife delivered a very cordial curtsey, then the two turned to one another and kissed once more, bringing about another wave of cheers.

"Robin, Anna," Chrom announced from on high, "I say this to you as a friend and as the friend of your husband, respectively: What the hell is wrong with you two?" He joined the rondo of laughter with an incredulous grin. The pair smiled in each other's embrace, ignorant of them all.

[*]

"Aw,"Morgan cooed, "that one was much sweeter." She hesitated a moment, replaying

the story in her mind, "But all you did was insult one another. I don't understand. Why does this kind of thing make you fall in love with each other?"

"I guess your father's just a strange man, Morgan," he admitted, rising from the bed and patting her shoulder.

"And your mother was the only woman crazy enough to like him," Anna straightened out her daughter's hair.

"If being in love with you is crazy, then sanity is overrated," Robin smiled to his wife.

"Oh, gods, that's so trite," she shook her head.

Morgan frowned, saying nothing, but both her parents took note of it quickly. "But if you're trite, you're trite. You're still my husband, and I love you more than anything."

"And I you, Anna," he smiled as they joined in an embrace. He pursed his lips, closing his eyes and leaning his head forward-

"WAIT!" Morgan exclaimed.

Both her parents leapt a foot back from the other. Anna turned her head first, "What, honey? You just about gave your mom a heart attack."

"Sorry, sorry," she dismissed, "but I think I get it now."

"Get what, dear?"

"You and father, why you love each other so much."

"Oh, this I've got to hear," Robin leaned forward with sardonic interest.

"You and mother both want to be more clever than the other! Your constant one-upping of each other makes you feel good, and, in the meantime, it's a 'thrill of the chase' sort of deal," the little redhead reported matter-of-factly.

"Ha!" Anna scoffed, "As if I need to put any effort into getting one over on your dad."

"Funny, I recall you complaining that it took a lot of effort to 'get one over on me,'" he winked at her.

She blushed, "Robin! Gods, your daughter's in the room!" Morgan stared at him, clearly perplexed by the remark.

"Just bear it in mind, sweetheart," he took his wife's face in his hand and kissed her, "your father puts up all the effort, and he gets one over on your mother plenty, and sometimes, she does him, but, at the end of the day, we're both on even ground, loving each other very much." Morgan said nothing, the metaphor obviously completely lost on her. "Time for bed, now," he reaffirmed, kissing his daughter's forehead.

"O... kay..." she shrugged, "Goodnight, mother, father, I love you."

"Goodnight, honey. Love you, too," they responded almost simultaneously.

"Now that was just depraved," she tapped his forehead lightly with a scolding index finger.

"But accurate," he smiled knowingly, "You know you love it."

"Uh-huh," she rolled her eyes, "lie down."

"So you can 'get one over on me?'" he couldn't help but to laugh.

"If I don't suffocate you with a pillow tonight, we'll see," she walked to the other side of the bed and playfully lobbed her pillow at his head.

They slid in close. "Goodnight, Anna," he breathed, shutting his eyes.

"Goodnight, you bastard."


	2. Change

**Change**

"The _whole_ day?" she asked incredulously.

"It's not up to me. Chrom needs my help, I'm duty-bound to serve him. The man saved my life, Anna. I'm sure you can appreciate that," her husband asserted.

"But what about Morgan?" she followed up.

"You can take care of her, can't you? You're her mother," Robin shrugged, surprised it was even a question.

"Of course I can," she crossed her arms, indignant, "the problem is that I have other responsibilities, too, unlike you, Mr. _Retired_ Tactician. Speaking of which, what could Chrom possibly need you for that takes up the whole day?"

"I can't say," he sighed, "He told me it's a 'matter of national security.'" He mimicked an intensely furrowed brow and ran a mocking hand through his hair, combing it carefully. Anna couldn't help but allow a giggle. "I'm sorry," Robin breathed, taking his wife's hand, "but this could be a good chance for you. I bonded with her over tactics, now it's your turn to find a common interest between you."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed, "go to your secret boys' club meeting. Maybe I'll teach Morgan how to stay away from the binding affections of men."

"You'll hear no argument from me," he smiled sidelong, taking steps toward the door.

She laughed as he parted. There was undoubtedly something within him that had changed since the day they were married. It wasn't that she felt estranged in some way, but her husband, Anna had noticed, seemed to possess a natural paternal instinct that had kicked in the moment he met Morgan. That was what confused Anna: she was the mother. She was the one who was supposed to know what her child was going to do before the thought even appeared in the little girl's head, but she took so much after her father, by the look of things, that it was impossible to determine if she ever really thought much of her mother. Anna clenched her fist in half-joking determination: she would earn the trust and respect of her daughter, and by the time her husband returned, there would be a whole new family dynamic.

"Morgan, honey?" Anna called up through the small room.

She bounded into the room in an instant, "Yes, mother?"

She put an arm around her daughter's shoulder; "You're coming to work with your mother today, sweetie."

"Okay!" she replied, darting outside to hop onto the cart that awaited them both. Anna shook her head. It was difficult not to be captivated by that girl's enthusiasm.

Settling onto the cart, Anna stared straight ahead as her smiling daughter plopped herself down next to her mother. After a few moments of silence as the horses began moving, Morgan spoke up, "Mother?"

"Yes, dear?" Anna concentrated on the road.

"When you realized you… liked father, what did you do?" Morgan pressed her index fingers together.

"What do you mean, Morgan?"

"I mean… who did you talk to? Where did you go? Did you speak to father right away, or…?" she continued, voice wavering.

"Oh," Anna thought quickly, "I see. As I recall…"

[*]

"So, Anna, darling," the blonde with the ridiculous ponytails began, "we're interested to hear a little about you."

"Me? Oh," she dismissed with a wave of her hand, "there really isn't that much to tell. I've just been a merchant girl all my life."

"But you must have some stories, or something, the other blonde, the princess, with her equally ridiculous pigtails, remarked.

"In my line of work, the fewer stories I have, the better," Anna breathed. She didn't have much patience for this sort of conversation; prying into others' lives for valuable information was _her_ job.

"Well, then, at least tell us how you feel about the… ahem, pool around here?" the first blonde said with a smirk.

"I don't follow," Anna admitted.

"Come now," the woman rolled her eyes and exaggerated her posh voice, "there must be someone around this camp that you… fancy."

"Oh," Anna's eyes widened, "No. No, I'm not much for romance."

"That's a lie!" the other blonde started smirking now, too, her voice singsong.

"Oh? Lissa, dear, do you know something?" her companion begged with interest.

She tapped a finger on her temple knowingly, "Uh-huh. I saw you sneak out to Robin's tent last night. I heard you two laughing inside."

"Robin?" the other girl's eyes narrowed. There were a few murmurs from the other women, who had also gathered around to meet the new arrival, "That's an… interesting choice."

"Wait, whoa, whoa," Anna put her hands up, "I just thanked him for leading my rescue, that's all. We joked back and forth a bit, and then I left. That was all."

"Did you, perchance, take note of the depth of the collection of literature present in our tactician's meager domicile before succumbing to your amorousness?" Miriel adjusted her glasses.

"Hey!" the redhead insisted, "I didn't 'succumb' to anything! We talked and had a little laugh, that was it!"

"Aw, listen to you," Sully grunted, "The fact that you're denyin' it so much means it's the truth, whether you like it or not, girly."

"Don't you 'girly' me, sister," Anna glared at the other redhead.

"Don't you 'sister' me, little lady," Sully countered.

"Don't you—"

"Oh, shut it, the both of you," snarled a voice from the back of the room. The two redheads became silent as they searched for its source. A strange, raven-haired girl sauntered into view. "You," she pointed a finger at Anna, "you'll keep away from Robin's tent from now on. Only I get to 'drop in' there." The curious girl giggled in a very unsettling manner.

"I go where I please," Anna beamed, apparently the only one not frightened to silence by the girl.

"I don't like you," she returned simply, staring coldly back.

"Aw, Tharja, don't be mean! We should be nice to our new friend," chirped a small girl with emerald hair as she walked by Tharja. "So, hey!" she smiled at Anna, "I'm Nowi!"

"Nice to meet you, Nowi," she tenuously shook the little girl's hand. Must be a manakete, to be around here, Anna surmised.

"I hate to say it, but you may just be barking up the wrong tree if it's Robin you're after," another redhead entered the scene.

Anna cocked an eyebrow, "You mean you think he's—"

"Oblivious?" she cut Anna off, "Definitely."

"And why do you say that?" Anna continued, unsure why she had asked.

"I tried speaking to him the other day. Gods, I couldn't have been more obvious in petitioning him. I asked him at least a hundred personal questions, I put my hands over his, I even stood right behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Caressed it, I would say," she sighed.

"Maybe you laid it on a bit thick?" Anna supposed.

"I thought of that, but he never even looked at me the whole time. He just stared at those silly books of his, not even acknowledging me but to dismiss me with some sarcastic remark," she spat.

"Aren't those 'silly books,' like, his whole workload, or something? Are you criticizing him for working too hard to keep you alive instead of flirting?" Anna wondered sardonically.

"At the very least, I'm saying he's not the most attentive man, and may not make for the best husband. Are you saying you know something more than us?" the other redhead returned.

"'Us?'" Anna repeated, "How many of you have an interest in him?" Several heads turned and eyes darted away in the room. Tharja raised her hand.

"_Seriously_?" Anna sighed, "I didn't think he was anything _that_ special."

"But… he is kinda handsome. And the way he speaks… ooh," Lissa argued with decreasing coherency.

"You know what?" Anna threw her hands up, "Fine. I'll go over there and show you all how easy this can be." She proceeded out of the large tent. Quickly, the other women began to file out behind her.

"Morning, Robin," Anna announced in her most glowing saleswoman's voice as she drifted into the tactician's tent.

"Morning," he replied curtly, "I thought I mentioned troops really shouldn't be wandering in here. What does it matter, though, you all just keep coming in, anyway…" He sighed to himself.

"Sorry," she lowered her eyes. The tactician still hadn't looked at her. "I just wanted to come say 'hi' to you. How are you holding up?" she picked her chipper tone back up.

"Fine, same as last night," he proceeded, undaunted.

"Do you feel like getting some lunch, or something?" she hoped.

"I'm a bit busy, I'm afraid," he informed the pile of papers before him.

"Would you like me to bring you something, then?" Anna pressed.

"Not hungry," he replied more definitely.

"Would you care to talk, at least?" she threw out, exasperated.

"About what?" he mused.

She rolled her eyes, "Anything. How's your work coming along?"

"Fine," he repeated, striking at the paper mercilessly with his quill.

Anna threw her hands up, knowing that the tactician still was not looking, "Did you cut your hair?"

"When would I have had time to do that?" he dismissed.

"Argh!" she growled, "Would it kill you to just look at me?!"

He dropped his quill and turned in his seat to face her, "Is something the matter?"

"Yes, something's the matter," she lowered her head resignedly, "Since yesterday, I realized you're just about the only sane person here. I was just hoping for a little normal conversation, because gods know I can't get it with anyone else."

"Oh," his eyes widened and lips curled into a distasteful frown, "I am sorry. I wasn't aware."

She continued to hang her head, "Forget it. Didn't mean to disturb you…"

"No, wait," he stood, catching her, "I'm starved. What say we have a little lunch together, hm?"

"Sounds nice," she flashed a smile.

The other women, gathered along the side of the tent, bunched together to escape the tactician's view as he stepped out astride Anna. When she was certain he wasn't looking, Anna craned her neck to the group and stuck her tongue out. It took only a few minutes to reach the mess tent, whereupon Robin and Anna each acquired a plate of food and plopped down on either side of an inconspicuous table. The area was empty, save Stahl and Kellam, though no one had realized the latter was present.

"So," Anna wondered aloud, swallowing a mouthful of potatoes, "What did you do before you were a tactician, Robin?"

"Before I was a tactician…" he inhaled and closed his eyes. After a moment, he released, "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you 'don't know?'" Anna lowered her fork.

"I have amnesia. Specifically, retrograde amnesia. I can't remember anything before Chrom happened upon me a few weeks ago," Robin explained.

"So… you wouldn't know if you had a girlfriend? A wife? Children?" Anna thought.

His eyes narrowed, "I had considered that before. Yes, if I had any family, they're unknown to me now." He stared straight down, not daring to take anything from the plate.

Anna took notice: "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm sure you don't have anyone waiting for you anywhere, and…" she slowed, realizing what she was saying, "and that doesn't sound a lot better, does it?" He shook his head.

"The best thing I can do is try to focus on what's happening now," he yawned, pausing, his eyes fluttering quickly.

She snapped her fingers, "Are you okay?"

He started and shook his head again, "Ahem. Yes, fine, sorry."

"You're exhausted," she looked at him pityingly.

"Don't know the meaning of the word," he cleared his throat, slowly beginning to dig into his food. She frowned.

"If you ever need a nap, you could always sneak out. I've got a couple of pillows lying around in my inventory," she suggested.

He smiled at that, "Thank you, but I don't think I could bring myself to do that."

"What's the matter, scared to break the rules? Afraid old man Chrom might catch you in the act?" she goaded him.

"Terrified," he acceded, "this is the only living I can make right now."

She laughed, "Well, if things go south, I can always use an extra hand around the shop."

"'Errand boy' isn't high on my list of alternative careers," he quipped.

"Well, I _was_ just gonna kinda give you the keys, but, 'errand boy'… That sounds pretty good," she grinned.

He chuckled gently, "I like you, Anna."

She couldn't help but to blush a bit, "Um, thanks?" _Who just _says_ that_, she wondered.

"You're welcome. It's very nice to have someone I can talk to like this," he continued to smile.

"Sure thing," her eyes shifted.

"Does this make us… friends?" Robin supposed aloud.

"What kind of a question is that?" Anna gave her first thought voice, cocking an eyebrow.

He lowered his gaze, "I'm sorry. I must sound like a madman from time to time. The amnesia… makes it difficult to recall some concepts. I'm… sort of… relearning social graces, if that makes any sense."

"Oh," her eyes widened with realization, "Er, yes, I suppose this does make us friends."

"Ah," the smile returned to his face, "good, then."

"Unless…" she risked, letting her hand drift close to his, unattended on the table.

He looked down at it, then back up to her, "What?"

She pulled away, "Never mind."

"I'm sorry, am I forgetting something else?" he watched her carefully.

"No, no. I was just… thinking of something," she dismissed.

"Well, this has been a nice chat," he surmised, adjusting his collar.

"You're leaving?" she pouted, "You've barely touched your food."

"I'll finish it in my tent. Thank you, mother," he smirked.

"Yeah, yeah. Try not to fall asleep and drown in it," she returned.

He smiled earnestly, "It really was good talking to you, Anna."

"You too," she winked at him, "You're… a good friend, Robin. Very good." She noticed some redness in his face as he collected himself and hurried out.

[*]

"Hah!" Morgan laughed, "And father says _I_ can be naïve."

"He got better over time," her mother nodded, taking some of the cargo from her cart.

"So, did you fall in love with him right away? Like, at first sight?" Morgan pressed.

"I don't know, honey. I don't think so. Your father takes a little… getting used to," she considered, index finger to her chin.

Morgan gave a snide smile, "Or you just don't want to admit how completely smitten you were with him from the first moment. It's okay, mom, I understand. If someone like father had rescued me from certain death, I'd be swooning over him all the time, too."

"That's not—I—" her mother stammered, "Who's swooning? I don't see or remember any swooning."

"It's all implied," Morgan surmised, "It's okay. You two are adorable."

"How about you just unload the cart, young lady?" Anna leered at her daughter.

"Whatever you say, mom," she hummed in a singsong tone.

"Gods, you're as obstinate as your father," she slapped her palm over her forehead.

"What?!" she jumped, "You think I'm like father?! YES!"

Anna rolled her eyes at her daughter. This was going to be a long afternoon.

[*]

"Afternoon, Lucina, and… Lucina," the tactician saluted sarcastically as the twin Ylissean princesses drifted by, the younger counterpart in her mother's arms.

"It does feel a bit redundant, doesn't it?" Lucina tilted her head toward him.

"Work to do, Lucina," her mother clapped her hands quickly.

"Right, mother," she followed quickly.

Chrom settled himself back to the table, obviously distracted by admiring his wife as she drifted away, the newborn babe in her arms. He smiled broadly as she and their daughter continued up the stairs.

"Still enamored with those child-bearing hips?" Robin supposed with a laugh.

Chrom's face reddened, "I'll thank you to remind yourself of your place, Robin."

"I don't think I have any business there," he pressed on, gesturing back toward the queen.

"I can have you beheaded on order, you know," the Exalt lowered his brow at his friend.

"Pfft. You need me," the tactician scoffed. He indicated the forms and memoranda sitting before him, "Otherwise, what'd be the point of all this?"

"I can get a new tactician. I hear there's a little redheaded girl in the kingdom with quite a penchant for the job," he challenged.

"Yeah, she'd be better than this rusted old salt," Robin laughed, stroking his lapel.

"Gods, when did you start talking like that? You're no one's grandfather yet, Robin," the Exalt reminded.

"War and peace," Robin breathed, "both have ways of reminding a man of all the things he needs to do. And I've got a lot on my plate."

"I'm sure Anna will understand," the Exalt cleared his throat.

"'I'll thank you to remember your place, Chrom,'" the tactician lisped in a mocking impersonation of the Exalt.

"Oh, blow it out your arse," Chrom dismissed.

"I need to make sure I do things right, Chrom," Robin sobered, his determination palpable, "I want there to be someone there for both of them… all three of them, when the time comes."

"What's this about, Robin? You don't feel worthy of her?" Chrom supposed.

"Not in the least. Why should any woman have ever picked me, her most especially?" Robin shook his head, smiling.

"Naturally, I can't answer that, but it's clear as day she loves you like a brother," Chrom attempted to console his friend.

Robin laughed discouragingly, "I would hope she loves me more akin to a _husband_. Gods, you royals do have some strange family ties, don't you?"

Chrom's face descended into crimson as he cleared his throat again, "T-That's what I meant. Anyway, enough with your self-pitying crap, we have work to do."

Robin laughed in the Exalt's face.

[*]

"Ugh," she groaned, "Seriously? Chrom knows we're married, right?"

"That's what I said," Robin sighed, settling in next to her, "I'm sorry, honey. I wish there were something I could do…"

"Forget it," she smiled, "I may just have a talk with the Exalt, myself. Maybe decrease the flow of trade in his little capital…"

"Gods, that's vindictive," he stared straight ahead.

She smirked, "I know, love me?"

"Love you," he embraced her, "Did you and Morgan get some bonding done today."

"We're working on it," Anna sighed a little.

"'As obstinate as your father,'" came the none-too-silent repetition from their daughter's room.

"So, you're bonding over… me? I'm not sure how I feel about that," he smiled, shutting his eyes.

"I am," she covered his face with a pillow and lay on top of him.

"You have to deal with her by yourself for the rest of your life if I suffocate," he mumbled from beneath the fabric.

"Good point," she removed it, laying it and her head back down in their usual spot.

"Good night, Anna. I love you," he kissed her.

"I love you, too, you damned fool."


	3. Finder's Fee

III

Anna sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. This had been a rather curious morning. Within the first day of his new responsibilities to the Exalt, her husband had already shirked his travail so as to care for her, not that she minded. Anna had been completely overtaken by some illness out of nowhere early that morning, and she counted herself quite lucky that her husband seemed to have some idea of what was going on; that was more than she could say for herself.

Presently, he walked over to her and cradled her shoulders in his arm, "How's your stomach feel now, all right?"

She didn't feel much like opening her mouth after what had come out of it earlier that morning. Nonetheless, she coughed, "Y-Yes. Better. Thanks."

He nodded his head dutifully and grabbed her hand with his empty one, "I'm no physician, but I would highly recommend you get some rest."

"The store," she sighed. An independent merchant couldn't call in sick; who would gather the profit then?

He hugged her tighter, "Anna, I know your business is your life, but I don't think it'll mean the end of us if you would let it go for one day."

"Blech," she groaned simply, leaning into him.

Robin turned his head to a creak from the doorway, "Morgan?"

"Is mother okay?" she pursed her lips, eyes wide.

"She'll be just fine," Robin pecked his wife's forehead.

"What's the prognosis, doc?" Morgan inquired, quite a bit rejuvenated.

"Hard to say right now, hon, given that I'm not licensed in medicine," he shook his head.

"But you know everything, father!" his daughter replied.

Anna giggled, "No, he just thinks he does."

"Didn't I tell you to get some rest?" he rubbed her shoulder playfully.

"Mmm," she grunted, lowering her head into her husband's lap, "tell me a story, papa." He blushed and stared at her, unsure if she was joking or confused. "Come on," she insisted, "Morgan will want to hear something new, too."

He rolled his eyes and turned back to his daughter, "Any thoughts, sweetheart?"

She considered carefully as though she were arbitrating a major debate before settling on an idea, "Mother was telling me about your first date the other day. Did you two go out any more after that?"

Robin thought a moment, "Oh, after 'lunch.' No, your father didn't really have time for dating while managing an army."

"Don't lie," Anna jabbed her husband's knee with her shoulder, "There was that other time… Remember?"

He cleared his throat, "Er, no."

She stuck her tongue out, "C'mon, you know! _That_ day!"

"You're sure you want to tell Morgan about that?" he whispered.

"Of course," she nodded slightly, "She deserves to know everything about her mom and dad. I know how a girl can get about that sort of thing."

"For the record, I don't have any interest in hearing stories about your father's love life," Robin sighed.

"Stuff the jokes and just tell the story," she slapped his side limply.

"Well," he watched his daughter's face carefully.

[*]

"Afternoon, tactician-boy! How ya feelin'? Exhausted as usual?" she chirped, lowering her crossed arms on top of his head.

He struggled a bit, then resigned himself, "I was just resting my eyes, I swear."

"Sure, sure. If I die, it's on you, but, please, rest your eyes a little longer," she teased, speaking directly into his ear.

"Don't joke about that. I couldn't stand to lose… anyone," he announced after a minute.

"Really? Even me?" she smiled, "Even if I did… THIS?!" She swept her foot parallel to the ground and kicked the legs of the chair in which the tactician sat, collapsing him to the dirt beneath.

"No," he sighed, dusting himself off, "Gods know even death wouldn't stop you."

"Got that right," she grinned again.

"So, what's the deal today?" he resumed, picking up and replacing his chair, "New get-rich quick scheme? Miracle snake oil you want to sell me? Come to gloat about profits?"

She frowned indignantly, "Maybe I just wanted to see you." He stared at her a moment, then laughed dismissively. She joined him after a moment.

"Really, now," he sobered, "what did you want?"

Her eyes shifted away, "I, uh, hear the fields along the plains in this country look beautiful this time of year."

"And?"

She clasped her fingers together, "I was going to go for a little walk… Wanna join me?"

"What, and hold your parasol, or something? Forget it," he quipped, reorganizing his desk.

"Hey," she stamped a foot, "I'm being serious. No parasols, just a little walk. Or is that too much for the master tactician to handle?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Oh, really? A walk? Yes, a walk. I suppose that would be fine."

She smiled at him, noting that his entire demeanor had shifted at what seemed to be the drop of a hat. She was more than confident, and thusly more than pleased to note that she had been the cause of his sudden turnabout, "Now, then, suppose you'd carry a lady's things?" They both laughed as he followed her out.

The first several minutes of their walk proceeded in almost total silence, their boots rapping dryly off the earth beneath them as they strolled through the low grass, occasionally glancing over into the gold-trimmed horizon, and with even more occasional trepidation, stealing glances at one another. At last, Anna, already finding silence difficult to maintain prior to the walk, began to breathe conversation into the air: "It's lovely countryside, isn't it?"

"Quite," came the curt reply.

"Honestly," she pressed him, "do you suppose you've ever seen a sight so splendid?"

"I should think not," he addressed the grass.

"One might even go so far as to call it romantic," she hazarded, peeking at him over her shoulder.

"Perhaps so…" he noted, still examining the field. After a moment, he raised his head and added, "Is there something you mean to say, Anna?"

She recoiled, "N-No. How do you mean?"

"My mistake," he dismissed, "I thought perhaps your remarks were…" He let the thought hang and drop to the ground.

Anna had prepared to respond, however, her attention was diverted by the appearance of an old domicile that appeared just on the edge of her vision. For some reason, Anna couldn't help but be attracted to the little wooden place. It had a rustic charm about it, that was what she decided was her reasoning. "Say, Robin, mark that house over there?" she encouraged him.

"Oh, yes, I see it," he nodded, "What of it?"

"I rather like the look of the place. Care to investigate it with me?" she smiled.

"I thought we were going for a walk, not house hunting," he scoffed.

"Oh, lighten up," she nudged him, "let's do something fun, something unexpected!"

"I'm a tactician, the unexpected is my worst enemy," he lamented.

"The you have to get used to confronting it, come on," she yanked him away by the arm.

As they drew near the modest home, Anna sauntered up to the door and grasped the handle, only for the door to loosely fall open at her slightest tug. Shrugging, she made her way inside, the tactician following reluctantly behind. It was evident the place had been abandoned for years, as it was covered in dust, cobwebs, and all manner of grime that had obviously set in after its original owners had departed. Upon a quick inspection, Anna noted the rotting wood and sullied carpets that adorned the floors, as well as what Robin felt were clearly unsafely weakened support beams.

"I think we've seen about all we need," Robin surmised, carefully vaulting over a ratty, ruined chair that lay overturned on the floor.

"I want to have a look upstairs," Anna determined, indicating the staircase that was quite clearly in a massive state of disrepair, parts of it already having been fractured off.

Robin shook his head, "There's no way I'm going up that."

"Fine," she pushed him aside, "I always knew I was the one with the most guts." To the pair's mutual surprise, Anna made her way up the ancient stairs without issue. She laughed confidently as she taunted the tactician from the upper level, then made her way into a bedroom, one of three on the upper floor. She walked around and examined the large, rather unspoiled, plushy bed that sat in the middle of the room, but drew back, reviled when a quick feel of the furniture revealed it was utterly soaked with… something. Anna dared not think what. A few more steps prepared her to leave the bedroom, but she was suddenly halted. As if it had come alive, the wood beneath Anna's foot seemed to wrench up and catch her, twisting her body mid-stride and causing her to fall to the dirtied floor with a shout.

Without another word, there came a thundering up the degraded staircase, then a snap, as well as a frustrated, "Son of a bitch!" and, finally, Robin entered the doorway, kneeling down to the collapsed redhead: "Anna, are you all right?"

"I think so," she bleated, pushing herself up. She was immediately halted by a searing rush along her leg, causing her to shout again.

"Easy," he placed a hand on her shoulder, then looked to the leg that had been caught by the wood. He crawled over to the limb and gauged it, before placing his palm over it carefully. Anna winced. "Does it hurt when I put pressure here?" he inquired, pushing his palm into her ankle.

"Ouch," she spat first, "Yes."

"Well, that's simple enough, then. I think you twisted your ankle, Anna," he remarked, removing his hand and looking her in the eye.

"So, what'll we do?" she wondered. She wasn't well versed in first aid; people usually rushed to help her when she was in trouble, so she didn't usually need much looking after.

"I could return to camp and ask for help…" he thought aloud.

"You're not going to just leave me here!" she reprimanded.

"Oh," he realized, "Of course. That would be dangerous."

After a quick pause, Anna became impatient as the tactician sat and thought, "Hello?! Any other brilliant ideas?"

He cleared his throat, "Well, if you're comfortable with it, I could carry you back to camp."

"Fine, just get me off this gods-damned dirty floor," she railed. He carefully slipped an arm beneath her neck, then another very delicately behind her knees and stood slowly, so as to keep her injured ankle away from duress. Slowly, he made his way out of the room and toward the stairs. Confronted with the foe from before, no sooner had the tactician made his first step than he was thrust forward by the frayed wooden planks giving way again. Quickly, he rotated his body so that he fell to the floor first, supporting the injured Anna as she fell limply onto him.

"Agh! Watch what you're doing!" she barked. He coughed in response. "Robin," she breathed after a moment, "are you all right?" Two coughs. Gingerly she pushed herself off from atop him, shaking his shoulder, "Robin, answer me." She waited another moment, then, frustrated, slapped his face, "Answer me!" When the tactician still did not answer, she noted his eyes were half-closed and not responding to the sensation of light. "Oh, gods," she murmured. Still having no idea what to do, she recalled the actions of physicians she had watched and heard of in the past, and crept back over the tactician, first pushing down, and then simply striking his chest repeatedly.

"Agh, ow! Stop that!" she finally heard him wheeze.

"Why didn't you answer me, you bastard?!" she threatened him.

"What do you mean? I just… we fell down the stairs and…" he wondered, his eyes searching the room.

She relaxed, "Forget it, let's just keep going." He grunted, then sighed. "What's the matter?"

"I can't feel my legs," he admitted weakly. Anna turned around and slapped her palm over her mouth at the sight: The tactician's left leg had been rotated in a direction not within the normal range of human movement, and the right was impaled by a rather sizeable chunk of the rotten wood that had sent them flying.

"Well… Dammit," she sighed.

"Some romantic walk," he digressed, "Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I was the one that got us into this mess," she resigned.

"If I had been more careful, we could've at least gotten back to camp," he persisted.

"Forget it. Not your fault," she sighed, "Gods, I'm just exhausted." She relaxed herself and let her crumpled body fall on top of the tactician's, grabbing his shoulders for support.

"It's probably not the best idea to fall asleep right about now…" he droned, though his own eyes were quickly being overtaken by a whiteness. Before long, the both of them had slipped into unconsciousness.

[*]

"Robin, for gods' sakes, compose yourself!" barked a voice from above.

The tactician started awake to the sound of the captain's voice: "Chrom! Uh… what?"

"Get up, you layabout!" he commanded.

He struggled, then sighed again, "I can't move my legs, Chrom."

He rolled his eyes, "Then tell Anna to cover herself and get off of you."

"Anna?" he repeated dumbly. The tactician looked forward to find that she lay atop him in a rather compromising position, but, he had been unaware, her smallclothes were clearly visible, among a few other features, past the waist, where from her pants appeared to have been pulled down.

After a moment, the redhead shook her head and yawned, staring into the tactician's eyes, "What is it, Robin?"

Robin's face was soaked with red; "Your clothes," he managed.

She took stock of the room for a moment, then, suddenly, noticing the sensation, squealed in surprise as she yanked her pants back over her rear. "C-C-Chrom," she noted nervously to the captain, "I—we didn't—this isn't—"

"'What it looks like?'" he finished for her, "I don't care what it is or isn't, it's after dark and I find you two in here goofing around. I had Shepherds sweeping the plains for hours looking for you."

"We didn't go very far… it took you hours to find us here?" Robin coughed.

Anna punched him, "Not helping."

"Apparently no one even saw this house until we asked Tharja a few hours ago," he reported sternly.

"I wonder…" Robin thought aloud.

He was cut short by the raven-haired girl bursting through the door as if summoned by the thought, "Did you find him?" Noticing Robin collapsed on the floor, she leapt to his side, "Oh, gods, Robin are you all right? I've been worried sick! Maybe if you weren't gallivanting around with harlots like her things like this wouldn't happen…"

"Harlots?" Robin repeated, "Tharja… did you have something to do with this?"

Her eyes widened, "What? N-No. I would never…! How could I stand to see you hurt?"

"What do you mean, 'hurt?'" Chrom pushed beside her.

"What are you, blind, you fool prince? Look to his legs," she scolded.

"Gah!" he gasped, "Oh… That's why you couldn't move your legs."

"That would be why," Robin compounded, more than a little sarcastically.

"But why were you fooling around like this instead of seeking help?" Chrom asked.

"We weren't fooling around; she twisted her ankle, I tried to carry her down the stairs, and, suddenly, they broke and we fell. Neither of us could move, we both fell unconscious," Robin reported.

"Tharja said she could hear you… Erm," he cleared his throat, "she could hear movement. She was the first one to discover you two." The captain turned his head to where the raven-haired girl ought to have been, but she had disappeared. The Shepherd's captain sighed to himself, "Well, I'll go get the others to take you two out of here. We'll get you fixed up. Don't move… Well, you can't but… Oh, hell, you know what I mean." He shook his head as he shoved the rotten door open.

As he left, Anna turned her head back to the tactician, "Did you pull my pants down like that?"

"With you grasping my shoulders like that? I don't think I could have if I wanted to," he dismissed irritably.

"'If you wanted to?' What's that supposed to mean?" she snarled.

"I thought you'd be glad to hear I didn't try to remove your clothes while you were unconscious!" he railed back.

"Oh, to hell with it," she sighed, lowering her head back down next to the tactician's, "I don't care what you did, I just want to rest."

"I didn't do anything," he repeated to himself as the room fell silent.

[*]

Robin stroked his wife's hair as she breathed softly into his lap. He smiled to see her eyes loosely shut as she heaved and sighed, now deeply asleep.

"Some date," Morgan giggled quietly, "I'm surprised you two could ever stand to see each other again after something like that."

"We almost couldn't," Robin whispered, "I think the next actual conversation we had was the one at Chrom's wedding."

"She seemed to not be very angry about it for that being the case," Morgan tapped her finger to her chin inquisitively, "Nor did you."

"We had plenty of time to cool off," he noted, "Plus, there was that time she came to my tent to persuade me to go to sleep and I threatened to have her thrown out; I'm sure she told you that."

"I remember a mention of something to that effect," Morgan nodded.

Robin moved his hands carefully, drawing his wife up and placing her head upon the pillow whereupon it typically rested, cradling her cheek as he managed to move her over silently. "Like to help me make some soup for your mother, Morgan?" Robin suggested, standing carefully, so as not to shift the bed dramatically.

"Ooh, yes," she licked her lips, "soup would be great."

"For your _mother_," he repeated.

"Sure, sure," she waved him off, "but I can have some, too, right?"

He laughed and rolled his eyes, placing his arm around his daughter, "Sure thing, honey."

[*]

"First day on the job was a day off…" Anna murmured as her husband settled in next to her, "That might mean a pay cut."

"It might, were Chrom not so desperate for help," he laughed.

"Thank you for taking care of me today. You did an excellent job," she lauded, rubbing his shoulder, "I'm still enjoying that soup. You might just make decent husband material after all."

"It was nothing," he dismissed, returning her embrace.

"No, really, it was rather exceptional, as if you knew exactly how I was feeling, at times. How did you do that?" she pressed.

"I guess you could say one needs only know what to look for," he smiled slyly.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" she cocked any eyebrow at him.

"Oh, nothing," he dismissed airily. He kissed her, "Good night, Anna, I love you."

"Goodnight to you as well, Robin. I love you, too," she relished their closeness and nuzzled into his shoulder.

"And," he put a hand forward to stroke his wife's stomach, "Goodnight to you, Morgan."


	4. Expenses

IV

"A baby," she murmured, "Gods save me, a baby."

"Honey, as much as I love you, do you suppose you could do your pacing about in the other room for a little while?" her husband asked groggily, his eyes loosely shut.

"Kind of having a moment, here!" she yelled back, agitated.

"But you had to know this would happen," he suggested, "you've already met Morgan."

"Well, you'll forgive me if I find pregnancy a little different than just meeting our daughter as a teenager," she grunted.

Sighing to himself, Robin stood, "I know. I can't claim to have any idea how this might make you feel, but everything is going to be fine." He placed his hands firmly upon her shoulders.

"Would that I might share your confidence," she lamented, supporting her head with her palm.

"People keep saying that," he looked aside, "but it's not I who is confident. The fact that you people surround me makes me confident. You most especially, Anna. You're in control of everything."

"I used to be," she corrected, "then I met you, and everything in my life has been topsy-turvy since."

He laughed to himself, "So we're equally helpless. I suppose that's what makes us so perfect."

Her entire body shook, "If you're done laughing it up, I'm losing my mind just a little bit over here."

"I'm sorry," he held her, "ease those nerves. Everything is going to be all right. I'm here, Morgan's here, and I'm sure you could talk to Lissa, or Maribelle, or…"

"Yuck," she stuck her tongue out, "Dealing with you is bad enough, but those two… That's a whole different kettle of fish."

Smiling, he kissed her quickly, "Do you want me to stay with you again today?"

"No," she sighed at length, "Chrom's good graces can only last so long, even for you. I imagine you'll get an earful today. I'll be fine, though, go ahead."

"You're certain?" he eyed her carefully.

"Go," she shoved him playfully toward the door, "I can't stand you for another minute."

"Oh, gods," he sighed laboriously, "that makes two of us." He snickered as he turned his collar up and tugged at the ends of his cloak.

"Insensitive jerk," she pouted with a knowing smile.

"I love you."

"Get going," she winked at him. As he parted, Anna settled herself back onto the bed. This was more than a strange sensation. To know that she would have a child was rather unsettling in itself, but the fact that that child was also in the other room, likely humming to herself or leafing through some musty old book was incredibly confusing for her. Certainly, this was far from where she had predicted she would find herself three years prior. With a husband and with child, that, she determined, was something she could not even have envisioned at the time. The very notion of romance had long been alien to her, and yet, that tactician, damn him, had managed to completely change the way she viewed the world. Now, there was space for affection and feelings where before all that had mattered was a profit and the next step forward. Again, the redhead stuck her tongue out, nonplussed by how incomprehensibly strange the world had become. Luckily, to break her metaphysical stupor, a creak announced her daughter's presence in the doorway. "What is it, Morgan?" she called.

She heard her daughter mutter a mild curse, then tenuously pose, "Are you all right, mother?"

She sat up, "Of course I'm all right. Why do you ask, dear?"

"The baby…" she replied carefully.

"Yes," Anna nodded, rubbing her stomach, "it is rather odd, isn't it? Though, I imagine, as strange as this may be for me, it must be ever the stranger for you."

"It hurts my head to even think about it," Morgan admitted. She focused intently on her mother's stomach a moment, before announcing, voice quivering, "Can I… feel?"

"Babies usually don't start to kick for another couple of months, at least," Anna smiled at her daughter.

Morgan averted her eyes, "I know… I just… I just wanted to…"

"Well, there's no harm in it," Anna supposed, moving her arms and baring her stomach for her daughter.

Immediately, she pressed her face into it, then leaned an ear to the side. Hearing nothing, she turned her head to face… herself again and whispered, "Be strong, little Morgan. Everything is going to be fine. Mommy and Daddy love you very much." Anna smiled quickly, but the smile disappeared when her daughter retired her position and, finger to her cheek, asked, "What do you suppose we'll do when the baby is born?"

"Whatever do you mean, Morgan?" her mother raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, I love you guys… but, er, I deserve to grow up in the same environment, without having to compete with… myself for attention," Morgan determined, her brow furrowing at the very thought.

"Morgan, we could never abandon you like that," her mother cooed, cupping a hand over her daughter's cheek and brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

"I know. And that's why I'll have to leave of my own accord," she declared.

"Enough of that," Anna kissed her daughter's forehead, "You're welcome to stay here as long as you please, darling."

She smiled slightly, "Thank you, mother, but even the daintiest chick must fly the coop eventually."

"I suppose. Know that you will always have a place to roost and clean your feathers here, though, my little chick," Anna pecked her daughter's forehead again.

"Thank you, mother," Morgan smiled.

"Now," Anna resounded, "Come away. We've got work to do today."

"Yes ma'am!" the smaller redhead saluted.

[*]

"Mother?" Morgan's head poked out from behind the crate she carried into place.

"Here we go…" Anna sighed to herself, "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Did you and father have a honeymoon?"

"Of course, dear," Anna stated plainly, arranging her display of swords.

"How long ago was that?" she pressed.

"Just after we were married, dear. About two years ago," Anna continued fixing the balance of the blades.

"Ah, then that's not it," Morgan resigned disappointedly.

"That's not what, honey?"

"Oh, nothing, just thinking," her daughter prevaricated, searching numbly through a pile of supplies.

"You can tell your mother anything, Morgan," Anna reminded, still fiddling with the swords.

"What did you and father do this past August?" she asked after a moment's consideration.

"What an oddly specific question," Anna replied, incredulous, "We spent most of our time trying not to be killed by Grima."

"Grima…" Morgan thought aloud, picturing the unsettling, dark impersonation of her father she had seen on the battlefield that day, the same day she was certain she had lost her father for good. "That must have been quite a scary time for you, as a wife," Morgan supposed.

Anna bit her lip, endeavoring not to remember the time, "Yes, it was rather… difficult."

"Did you speak to father before the attack? I know I did," she continued.

"I did."

"Could," Morgan stammered, "Could I hear about it?"

Anna inhaled deeply and began.

[*]

It was another late night for Robin, his hands tense and agitated with cramping pain as every new stroke appeared on the page before him. That was nothing special, nothing new, that was how it happened every time he worked to formulate a new strategy, but this night was different. At all times there was a shuddering, an implacable coldness in the pit of his stomach. A voice reminded him at all times that this would be the end. He had made the decision—it was an easy one for him—but the trouble now lie in how to tell his wife, the one who loved him more than anything, lest he condemn her to a lifetime of wondering why he left her. Would it be right to tell her, and how could he? Robin propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. For once, he determined, this problem was simply too difficult.

"You look like you're having a tough time," he froze at the voice.

"Yes. How does one combat a dragon?" he allowed, staring at the wall of his tent, smiling weakly.

"How does one combat oneself?" she compounded, standing next to him at the desk, contributing to the smile.

"Indeed," he noted uselessly.

"Something's bothering you," she detected.

"What makes you say that?" he wondered, turning his head to her.

"No jokes, you won't look at me… you're not yourself, Robin. What is it?" she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Perhaps I'm simply nervous," he rationalized, running a hand through his rather disheveled hair.

"The Robin I know doesn't get nervous. Not when he's been getting ready for so long," she dismissed.

"Maybe the 'Robin you know' is a façade," he spat, "I've never been confident a day in my life, around you most especially."

"Nor does her relentlessly self-deprecate like this," she lowered her face near to his own.

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I'll just get to sleep now…" he mused.

"Robin," she tightened her grip on his shoulder, "I'm your wife, for whatever that's worth to you—"

"It's worth a lot," he breathed huskily.

"—so you have to be willing to tell me anything and everything. Please, just be honest, what's bothering you, my husband?"

He stared at the pages arranged before him another moment, then shook his head, "Forget it. Why is it that we allow troubles to become the focus of our conversations? I love you, Anna. Let's speak of something pleasant for a moment."

She turned his head so that they could each gaze into the other's eyes, "Robin. Talk to me."

"I mean it," he continued, "Let's talk about what a wonderful daughter we raised in the future. Isn't she beautiful, Anna? And so innocent…"

"Robin, you're making me quite upset," Anna admitted shakily, "Why won't you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Isn't our daughter beautiful?" he repeated, lowering his brow concernedly to her, crestfallen eyes beneath.

"Yes. Yes, she's lovely, Robin. Perfect, even," his wife acceded.

He remarked with a strained throat, "I don't want anything to ever hurt her, Anna."

She nodded, "Nor I."

"And I don't want anything to happen to you," he added, staring into her eyes deeply.

She reciprocated the gesture, "Nor I to you, Robin," she massaged his shoulder to rouse him, "What is this about?"

"I'm sorry, Anna," he sighed, "I've been an unkind husband to you."

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

"In the midst of running an army, I haven't ever really had the chance to be close to you, intimate, the way a husband is meant to be with his wife. I've been reserved and unaffectionate, and I'm sorry," he shook his head, gesturing broadly.

"Robin, honey," she dismissed, "you know that's not true. You've been a wonderful husband to me."

"No, no," he shook his head vehemently, pain stinging his throat, "but I haven't been there at your side at all times, as I should have. That's the mark of a good husband."

"Oh, enough," she ran her fingers through his hair and bobbled his head to each side, "You've been a fine husband, there's no need for all this strange sentimentality, out of nowhere. I knew when I married you that we couldn't spend every waking moment together, but that has nothing to do with whether or not you're a good husband. That you're there when I need you, or when Morgan needs you, that's what makes you a good husband, and you've never disappointed. So, stop all this silliness and just tell me what's on your mind, big guy."

Robin reclined in his seat. He had been covering, at first, but now he was genuinely interested at the message his subconscious had delivered, "Have I really? You would say I do enough for you? That I fulfill my duties as a husband?"

"More than enough," she dissuaded, "I know you've always cared for me, Robin. Even if," she giggled, "you aren't always the best at showing it. I'm not the most expressive girl either, but we've an undeniable parity, you and I. That's what makes this special."

"Anna," he looked away. A telling smile crossed his lips, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Robin," was all she could declare as she stared back.

Suddenly, Anna felt her husband's hand over her own, the fingers running along her skin, caressing it, as if it would shatter if touched incorrectly. At once, he stood from his desk, wrapping his other arm around her waist, still caressing the smaller hand in his own, as he smiled uncertainly into his wife's eyes. She was overcome with surprise as he leaned in to kiss her. A deep, longing kiss, where every unexpressed element of pensiveness and repressed sentiment moved along his lips as she felt her eyes shut tightly. "Let me be to you as a husband should," he breathed into her neck as they broke apart.

"Robin?" she couldn't help but chuckle as the name escaped her lips. Something was undoubtedly wrong with him, but there was another motivation behind his gaze: a purity, a lightheartedness; if only for a moment, Anna saw her husband become a child professing his feelings for his first crush, a little handwritten love letter passing between their hands, moments of pensive silence, blushing faces and overly long scratches on the neck as neither party dared upset the other. Then he kissed her. And kissed her again. He was a different man in this moment, he wasn't thinking, as he was accustomed, he was feeling. There was purpose and emotion in his every smallest movement, gently fondling the supple locks of her hair as he caressed her neck, she supported herself on his broad shoulders and felt herself falling back, completely blind and yet more aware than ever as the beginning of a wonderful rhythm overtook her, and before long, his hands navigated away from her hair and toward her thighs. She was unaware of her furrowed brow as her husband admired her with a longing smile, and then they sense one another's need. He began to work at her belt mechanically, and she grasped hungrily at his cloak.

[*]

"A-Anyway," Anna coughed, blushing, aware that she had explained, perhaps, a bit too much, "that's all you need to hear about."

"I'll say," the smaller redhead frowned and stuck her tongue out, "Gross. But at least that means I'm right."

"'Right?'" Anna wondered, "About what?"

"When you and father elected to have a family," she resounded.

Anna thought, then blushed at her daughter, "Well, I don't know that it was exactly a conscious decision at the time-"

"What, consumed by your passions?" the little redhead teased.

"What business have you got asking questions like that, anyway?" Anna replied, thoroughly flustered.

"Just trying to figure my parents out, that's all," Morgan concluded airily.

Anna shook her head. That girl was something else.

[*]

"Chrom working you to death again?" Anna regarded her exhausted husband, who was sprawled out on the bed.

He yawned, "No, I'm fine if you need something."

"Oh, cut the half-assed white knight crap," she scoffed, imitating her husband's yawn.

"How is everything? I mean, has it sunk in yet? Do you feel all right?" he wondered through closed eyelids.

"Oddly enough, I think I'm at peace with it now, yes," she concluded.

"That's good," his eyes reopened, "Now why don't you give the baby and yourself the chance to rest?"

"Some of us have things to do, you lazy bum," she placed a hand on his leg and shook it.

"Some of us have already done things," he quipped, rolling over.

"Fair point," she agreed, "I'm exhausted, scoot over."

"You know I'll be ready at any time, and I'll drop any job Chrom gives me to take care of you two," he rubbed his wife's stomach tenderly.

"Of course," she nodded. After a moment more, she giggled at him, "Gods, making quite the habit of that, aren't we? Did you make up this whole pregnancy thing just so you could rub my tummy?"

"I wouldn't be above it," he snickered, then, lavishly, "you're very soft."

"Yeah," she sighed, "that's your fault. I used to have a six pack that put half the Ylissean knights to shame."

"Sorry, but I like it better this way," he pecked her cheek, "It was lot more difficult to find release on a bed of stone."

She scoffed with humored disgust, "Must you be so perverse?"

"Only around you," he laughed.

"Morgan was worried this afternoon," she sobered, "She said she'll have to leave once the baby is born."

"You told her she needs not do that, right?" he hoped.

"Of course," she replied, "but she seems rather determined to go, maybe purely for herself."

"I see..." Robin sighed, irresolute.

"We can have another talk later," Anna determined.

"Right, when we're together," he surmised, staring straight ahead.

"All right," she yawned again, "enough talk. Time for sleep."

He settled back into the bed and embraced her, "Naturally. Good night, Anna. I love you."

"Love you too," she reciprocated with a kiss, "Good night, you self-martyring moron."


	5. Surcharge

V

Robin stood quietly as his daughter hopped from stall to stall excitedly, exclaiming with brilliant, wide eyes whenever something caught her attention. The little redhead scoured diligently through the piles of merchandise and practically frothed over with joy upon discovering new items to sate her curiosity. At last, however, Robin saw the mop of maroon hair bounce toward him as she called, "How about this one, father?"

"It looks lovely, Morgan," he replied. Honestly, he had no idea. Long since, Robin had determined that anything looked beautiful on his daughter, and so he could provide no objective opinion.

"Father," she scolded, "if you're going to give empty praise, you have to try to say something different every once in a while."

"I think you look lovely in everything, Morgan," he allowed.

"Ugh," she sighed in mock malaise, "very much an answer a girl might receive from her father. I bet you say the same thing to mom, don't you?"

"Would you prefer I called you ugly?" he smirked.

"I would prefer you be honest," she noted.

"Then I think it looks lovely, Morgan," he grinned.

She shook her head dismissively and laughed at her father, "All right, wise guy."

"'Wise guy?'" he feigned indignation, "This 'wise guy' has the authority to ensure you see no dessert for a month, young lady."

"Dessert?" she smiled, "What do you think I am, eight?"

"We could also just forget about the dress shopping," he supposed with a smirk.

"Let's not be hasty," she smiled uneasily, "my wonderful father."

"That's more like it, my darling daughter," he beamed kissing her forehead.

She scolded him again, "Blackmailing your own daughter, who does that?"

"Me, so live with it," he touted.

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head again, "Thank you, though, for taking me out here. I can't imagine this is exactly riveting for you. To say nothing of the cost…"

"It warms my heart to see you so concerned, Morgan, but you needn't worry. Any daughter of mine deserves whatever clothes she cares to have, and I'm fortunate to be able to spend time with her," he declared.

"I think that was what Severa said to guilt her parents into a shopping trip, once," Morgan noted.

Robin patted his daughter's back, "Well, for my account, it's the truth."

"I love you, father," she hugged him.

"You too, sweetheart," he reciprocated. Digressing, he pulled at the dress she held, "So, you like this one?"

"Love it to pieces," she beamed, fondling the fabric.

"Then let's go get it paid for," he draped an arm over her shoulder and walked her away.

"Father?" she wondered allowed in stride.

"Yes, dear?"

"When you decided you were in love with mother, what did you do?" she inquired, mimicking her mother by putting a finger to her chin.

"Married her," he flashed a bright smile.

"Yes, yes," she rolled her eyes, "but when you _first_ realized it, then what? Did you tell anyone? Did you tell her right away?"

"To be honest, Morgan, I was only certain it was love that drove me to your mother when I proposed," he admitted.

"So what was it before, then?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe a compulsive need for self-denigration," he laughed.

"Father," she grew frustrated, "I refuse to believe you weren't in love with mother until you married her!"

"I didn't say I didn't love her before, I just wasn't certain it was love until then," he clarified.

She huffed in irritation, "Did you ever try to discuss your feelings with her? Before Chrom's wedding, that is."

Robin paused a moment to recall, "There was a moment when we were alone in the barracks…"

[*]

"Afternoon, Robin, my boy. Any stock I can interest you in?" the redhead gestured toward her pile of inventory messily adorning the floor of the barracks.

"You know I'm effectively your commanding officer. You oughtn't call me 'boy,'" he dismissed, pulling a chair out at the small table and throwing himself down.

"Sheesh," she admonished, "we're on our 'off' time, Robin. We can speak plainly, can't we? I thought you liked making friends with the Shepherds."

"Friends, sure. The Shepherds, definitely. You, it's always about money and sales," he lamented, the ghost of a smirk pushing on his bottom lip.

"Well, forget you, then," she spat, gathering her things.

"Anna," he held a hand out pensively, "sit. It was only a joke."

"Your jokes are in poor taste," she scolded, pulling a chair away to sit opposite him. "So, what does a tactician talk about on his off time? I bet amnesia makes for a very interesting personal life."

"Not really," he looked away.

"No? But you've got no past; a blank slate! You can be whomever you decide to be!" she noted, wandering to her own thoughts.

"You make it sound like something to be pleased about," he declined, disgruntled, "No past means I have nothing to go on. My work is the only thing I know how to do, I don't have anyone to write to… Sometimes, things can feel… rather devoid of meaning."

"Yikes. Sorry," she made a deadpan apology, "I had no idea. It just seems like it would be nice to not have to worry what anyone else is going to think of you."

"Family trouble?" he guessed.

"My father," she suggested vaguely, "We had a little… falling out. Marriages. I won't bore you with the details."

He could tell this was a topic she wanted to avoid, and so, digressed, "Any big sales today?"

"You sure know how to get a girl back in the right mood," she smiled at him, "A bunch, but I'll tell you about those later. Right now, I thought of something I wanted to ask you."

"Well, go on," he gestured forward with his hand.

"Are there any lady Shepherds you have your eyes on?" she wondered with an impish grin.

He blushed, "I'm not sure I understand you."

"Are you romantically interested in any of the girls here, Robin?" she elaborated.

"N-No," he dismissed, "That would be unprofessional, putting biases on my strategic thinking and giving preferential treatment to…"

"Aw, forget that," she waved her hand, "There must be someone here you find attractive."

"Certainly, there are a lot of beautiful women among the Shepherds, but that's not my focus. I have to look past everyone and see the potential strategy behind each individual unit," he explained dutifully.

She smiled deviously again, "So who do you think is beautiful?"

He blushed and moved to stand, "I don't have time for this."

"Hey, hey," she halted him, "No judgment here, I'm just curious."

"And why do you want to know these sort of things, anyway?" he wondered.

She coughed into her palm, "No reason, just like to be able to dispel rumors for myself."

"There are… rumors about me?" he asked.

"Sure thing. You're the biggest enigma of all of us, so it's no wonder everyone and their brother has their theories about you," she nodded.

"People actually opine about who might be the subject of my affection?" he submitted incredulously.

"Exactly, and one of those people wants to know the whole truth, right from the horse's mouth," she slapped her palm on the table, "Sit."

He complied, "Look, I hate to burst your incredibly weird bubble, but I don't really have anyone among the Shepherds I'm interested in."

"Outside the Shepherds, then?" she guessed.

"Frankly, I've never been outside the Shepherds," he put a hand to his forehead.

She gave a small smile, "Well that's a crying shame. There's a lot to see out there. You ought to explore a little when this war with Plegia's all over."

"I plan to," he mimicked her smile, revisiting his travel plans in his mind.

"All right, look: there has to be someone here you like most of all, who would that be?" the redhead insisted.

He shook his head, "No one. I treat everyone the same. No preferences."

"No, no way," she dismissed, "that's not human. There has to be _some_person among our number you like better than the others."

He sighed with frustration, glancing at the ceiling, "Cordelia's quite pretty, isn't she? The elegant stance, the genius aptitude, and, call me crazy, but there's something about the color of her hair that I love."

"C-Cordelia, huh?" Anna braced herself and endeavored not to frown, "W-What makes her so great?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. She seems nice, even-tempered, caring… did I mention pretty?"

"You did," Anna managed with gritted teeth, "So, you like Pegasus knights, is that it?"

"What?" he smirked confusedly, "No, I said I like _Cordelia_."

"Who is a Pegasus knight," Anna repeated.

He continued to be perplexed, "What do you mean? Just because I'm interested in one person doesn't mean I feel the same about everyone remotely similar."

"All right, fine, whatever, but why Cordelia?" Anna insisted.

"Didn't you just ask me that?" he shook his head.

She rapped a fist off the table, "Just tell me. It seems like it has to be the Pegasus and the armor. That's it, right?"

"No," he denied, "Do you really think me so superficial? I like her personality. And her hair."

"What about her hair?" Anna noticed.

"I don't know," his eyebrows raised into a grin, "there's something about that ruby-red color that I can't drag my eyes away from."

"Red hair…" Anna considered, playing with her ponytail a moment.

"Yes, a fun, spontaneous, occasionally irritating, sharp-witted, caring girl with ruby-red hair. That's the Shepherd I like best of all," he surmised with a knowing smile.

"Are we still talking about Cordelia?" Anna hoped.

"I need to get back to work," Robin winked, picking himself up.

[*]

The little redheaded girl blew a raspberry with her tongue, "That was it? I was hoping for a gushy confession."

"That came when I proposed," he patted her back, "Besides, since when is your father the, er, 'gushy' type?"

"Since he married my mother and had a daughter," she suggested slyly, wrapping her arm around his.

"Maybe so," he concluded airily, "Are you going to wear your new dress home?"

"No, it'll get all dirty. I'll put it on at home and surprise mother when she returns," she grinned, running her hand along the soft fabric again.

"Good girl," he praised, "I think I'll go pay your mother a visit. Will you be all right walking home alone?"

"We're fifteen minutes away, father," she rolled her eyes, "I'll be fine." He nodded to her and began to walk away, back into the crowd of market stalls, customers' yelling and screaming, bustling and bellowing, all reaching a fever pitch as he slipped and dove his way through the madhouse crowd, as he had become forcibly accustomed. Trudging his way forward, he found his wife, scarlet ponytail bobbing as her head whipped to either side to attend to the crowd. Holding his breath, with one last dodge, Robin slid over to his wife in at the stall.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

"I need about a dozen, but you're all I've got," she smiled, though she was visibly distressed by the clamor. He helped her as she took items from the shelves and stacked up the payments, dropping her profits into the impractically large sack she was so fond of.

"Do you never tire of all this?" Robin wondered as he felt his spine aching, picking up and setting down a heavy wooden crate.

"Some days, I used to," she smirked, "until I got some help to do all the heavy lifting."

Gradually, the crowd filtered away, and the pair, exhausted, sweating, each leaned back to recline of the counter that sat in front of the stall. Taking a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from his brow, Robin stood before his wife and stared at her with an evaluative eye.

"If you're undressing me with your eyes, you could just wait until we get home. I'm definitely going to need a change of clothes with this heat…" she supposed absentmindedly.

"No… Anna!" he found himself indignant, "Of course I wasn't… I've never done that to you in my life. Never needed to. At any rate, I was just making sure you were holding up all right."

"What do you mean? You think I'm that old already?" she smirked at him, "I'm no spring chicken, but I'm not about to keel over any time soon, either."

"I know that," he sighed, "I'm sure you'll be fine for yourself, but… recent developments have me a little extra concerned."

She patted her stomach, "Maybe I'm a little worn out."

"Let's get you two home," he suggested, draping an arm over her shoulder. She did the same and leaned into him as they trudged their way back to the house.

[*]

He placed an arm around her back and helped her in, at which point she dismissed him, "Go on. I can still walk, thank you." He bowed in deference and stepped away.

"Mother!" cheered a voice from within. At once, the little redhead sprung forward with a shimmering scarlet dress that was stark amid the rather plain walls of the house. "What do you think?" she asked, grabbing the fabric provocatively.

"You look beautiful, dear. Red suits you," she nodded happily, admiring her daughter.

"I modeled it after the most beautiful woman in all the world," she noted excitedly, showing off a pair of yellow patterns at each side.

"Thanks, kiddo. You sure know how to make your mom feel better," Anna smiled, kissing her daughter's forehead.

"Are we hungry?" Robin asked from another room.

"Starved," Anna and her daughter replied simultaneously.

"I had beef stewing all day today. Come have some," he beckoned. The redheaded duo bounded after the sound of his voice. Shortly, the family was seated and all parties tore into the food, polishing it off quickly, with Morgan licking her plate clean first. "And here I thought I was uncouth in eating so quickly," Robin chuckled, putting away the last morsel from his plate.

"I could go for a nap," Anna breathed with contentment, patting her stomach, "It'll help my digestion for the kid."

"Me too. But I need a story to fall asleep," Morgan agreed. The girls stared up to Robin.

He rolled his eyes and stood, "Come on, you layabouts. If you're going to nap, you might as well do it in a bed." Anna pecked her husband on the cheek as they stood. When the family had all settled in to rest, he asked, "And what shall I speak of today, Morgan?"

"I remember mom sort of glossed over the conversation you had where you threatened to throw her out. Can I hear about that one?" Morgan pleaded.

"Your mother and father weren't very nice to each other that night, Morgan," he cautioned with a furrowed brow, "Are you sure you want to hear about that?"

"It's important to your relationship, so, yes," she resolved.

[*]

The tactician gripped the sides of his head firmly, pausing only to rake a hand through his hair. The day had gone about as terribly as could have been imagined. Despite recruiting a new ally and besting Gangrel's forces, the Mad King had still managed to send Emmeryn to her death. Naturally, Chrom and Lissa were distraught, Chrom barely willing to speak to anyone, himself included, despite their friendship. Now the night was wearing on and the tactician needed a plan. Something, anything. He grasped futilely in his minds for any solution that might come. Though he couldn't bear to admit it, Ylisse's new master tactician was out of ideas. At once, there came a rustling at the tent flaps outside. "Out," he commanded, in no mood.

"And a good evening to you, too," he recognized the voice of the redheaded woman as she sauntered to his desk.

"Now's not the time. Out," he repeated, moving a hand to brush a fallen lock of hair out of his face.

"I could see the candlelight from outside. Why are you still awake?" she asked, undaunted.

"Anna, I mean it," he insisted, "Not now."

"You look tired. Talking might make you feel better," she suggested.

"There's nothing to talk about," he surmised, "I failed. Now I have to try to salvage the situation before things devolve any further."

"Failed? I know it was a rough day, but you did your best, Robin. You couldn't have predicted what would happen out there. No one could," she consoled.

"Even if no one could, it was my job," he slammed a fist onto the table, "It's my fault."

She frowned in distaste and put her hand over his, "Do you hear yourself? 'Your fault' for not being able to defend against the indefensible? Stop beating yourself up and get back on that horse."

"That's what I'm trying to do. Now, leave," he commanded once more.

"Robin, stop it," she commanded in a clear tone, "You're tired and frustrated. You'll never be able to concoct a cogent plan at this pace."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do," he hissed back.

"I'm concerned for your health, Robin!" she shoved him, "Please, if not for your sake, then for mine, rest yourself a bit."

"I couldn't find rest now if I tried," he dismissed, still poring over the page in front of him.

She rubbed his shoulder delicately, "Give it a go. I think you'll manage."

"I can't, Anna," he stated more plaintively, "I have to do… something. I have to… be ready… to make up for…"

"Oh, for the love of Naga," she chided him, "Robin, Emmeryn's dead! Nothing can change that! I know it's painful to all of us, but risking your own health just to grasp at ghosts isn't going to do anyone any favors, now get your sorry ass out of this chair and off to bed before I chain you down there!"

He whipped into a standing stance, and with a wickedness about his eyes Anna had never seen before, he grasped both of her shoulders. She was unsettled by his gruff tone as he stared at her and growled, "Let me be clear: you do not control me. Take your worthless gods-damned opinions elsewhere before I throw your sorry ass out of here for trying to command a superior officer."

A single tear rolled down Anna's cheek, "Sweet dreams to you too, you bastard," she ripped herself from his grip and marched out of the tent.

The tactician's head fell back onto his desk and into his hands as he rubbed his eyes in frustration, and his gloves grew wet.

Morning followed before long, and, despite herself, Anna appeared at the tactician's tent again, and allowed herself in, as before. She saw therein roughly what she had expected: Robin's face sat on its side in a pool of ink and papers strewn about the desk. Sighing, she pulled up the spare chair the tactician kept and rubbed his back. Slowly, she began to hum as she heard the rhythm of his slow breathing.

[*]

Rousing himself from the story, Robin realized he was also hearing slow breathing. He smiled warmly as he stared at his daughter, who had wedged herself comfortable between her father and sleeping mother, the latter of who held her husband and gripped the entire family together in a loose embrace. "So much for a little nap," he chuckled to himself, settling into the embrace, "Goodnight, my darling daughter and faithful foil."


	6. Selling Point

VI

Anna's mouth parted into a breathless yawn as her eyes opened, and she leaned forward into a sitting position as pale daylight filtered in through the bedroom's window. Rubbing her eyes, she turned to find her daughter, hair a complete mess, clutching her father's side with a contented expression painted on her face. Looking over, she noticed that he was also awake, as he shifted his gaze up to his wife. "Don't you have to get going?" she whispered.

"I didn't want to wake either one of you up," he smiled, looking to his daughter's sleeping face.

"Very chivalrous, but I think it's about time we got our rears in gear," she contributed, laying a hand on Morgan's shoulder.

"Five more minutes…" the smaller redhead pleaded sleepily.

Her father laughed and drew himself up from the bed, stretching his arms and cracking his neck as he stood. "Will you be all right by yourself, then?" he asked, taking his wife's hand as she got up and walked around the bed to him.

"Of course," she dissuaded, patting her stomach, "Junior here might have thrown me for a loop on day one, but I'm back at the top of my game."

"'Junior?'" Morgan repeated, swiping the bangs out of her face, "You're not going to call her that, are you? She has to be named Morgan!"

"Just a nickname, sweetie," her mother consoled.

"I'll be back this evening, by sunset," Robin assured his wife, having now taken both her hands.

"Don't stay out too late with your drinking buddies, Mister Man," she teased, ruffling his hair.

"I wish," he lamented, kissing her on the lips, then his daughter on the cheek before bidding them both farewell.

"Aw… you guys are so sweet it almost makes me sick," Morgan grinned, hopping off the bed.

Anna stared at her daughter, "Was that a compliment?"

"Who knows?" she giggled, traipsing into the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Anna called after her.

"To get dressed," she replied, "and fix my hair. I can't tend the stall looking like this."

Anna smiled to herself. The little girl had her father's work ethic and her mother's aesthetic sense.

[*]

"…And if you lay the food out in a wicker basket, or something similar, people will be more likely to perceive it as fresh," Anna instructed, gesturing to the front of the stall.

"Mother, did you ever practice as a thief?" Morgan inquired.

Anna's eyes widened, "Well, now, why would you ask something like that?"

"It's just… You like money, you know how to pick locks… I know how to pick locks… I thought maybe…" Morgan supposed, kicking the dirt carelessly.

Anna chuckled uneasily and dismissed, "Well… a girl's gotta have her secrets, right? It's not that important, hon. Just a little extra talent your mom picked up to slap on the ol' resume."

"Do you think that's what made father recruit you?" Morgan pressed on.

"I should certainly hope not," she laughed, "that would be a pretty lackluster ground for the beginning of a relationship."

"Did you like it with the Shepherds?" Morgan changed the subject.

"It was all right, I guess?" Anna stared into space, "Why do you ask? You were there with me, after all."

"I was thinking about before I showed up. Father doesn't like to talk about battle much… Ever get in any close shaves?" Morgan wondered excitedly.

"Not much, given my expertise," she touted, "Though… there was one instance… Er, never mind."

"Aw, you can't do that," Morgan pouted, "What happened?"

"I don't like to think about it," Anna managed, suddenly quite reserved.

"Please?" Morgan's eyes widened to an impossible size and shimmered.

"You've gotta tell me how you do that, kiddo," she shook her head, "Fine, it was…"

[*]

"Damned brigands. Will they never leave us be?" Chrom scolded, clenching his fist.

"Relax, Chrom. Let's get focused," Robin insisted, surveying the village ahead.

"So what's the plan, Strategy Man?" Anna rested her head on her palm.

"Anna, don't you have something else to do?" Robin asked irritably.

"Thought you ought to know, I can help take care of all those locked doors for you," she resounded, producing a key and swinging it around her finger.

"Right, right," he nodded, "You're a thief."

"More of a locksmith," she corrected, "and a Trickster, if you want to get really technical."

"Whatever you would have me call you, you can get the job done, then. Fine. I'll entrust you to travel through the locked homes, help us flank the brigands. You can work with Gaius," Robin surmised, sizing up the village again.

"The candy-crazed nutball? Wouldn't we be better served to have the tactician involved in the flanking, rather than the straight assault? Don't fret; big strong Anna can keep you safe during the attack, tactician-boy," she suggested with a smirk.

"I thought about that, but, running the numbers, you're in more danger in a frontal assault than I am," he returned.

"What's the matter," she chuckled, "scared a lady's gonna show you up?"

"Scared a lady's going to be in over her head and get herself hurt," he denied her, "You'll flank alongside Gaius. That's an order."

"Fine, fine," she frowned, "whatever you say, chief."

The battle broke out quickly, and the Shepherds were upon the opposing faction with marginal success. The initial assault broke into the ranks of axe-toting brawlers quickly, dispatching the weakest and wounding those of slightly sterner mettle. Eventually, however, the press was slowed to a crawl by the advancing of even more durable units, who seemed to scoff at the stroke of a blade. Anna, meanwhile, had begrudgingly set upon the locked houses, where several of the invaders had rounded up civilians. Anna and her partner swatted most of them like flies, rescuing the wayward common folk until they arrive at the house closest to the fighting that had come from the frontal assault.

"Wanna slow down a sec, Red? I could use a little chocolate break," the thief panted, several paces behind her.

"The name's 'Anna,' sugar-boy, and I don't know about you, but I'd rather help to make sure Robin, Chrom, and all the others don't get slaughtered than stuff my face," she chided.

"Fine, then," he growled, "I'll go over to the other side of the street. I can't work like this!"

"Whatever," she waved him off, then smirked, "And don't be so sour, bonbon-brain."

Anna set about dispatching the lock. It was simple, routine, the easy stuff. Anna chuckled internally, she as getting so little practice here, she might even be getting worse. A turn of the wrist, a click, and the tumbler sounded… Done! Anna pulled the lock off and kicked the door in, expecting to find, as she had before, one clueless, muscle-bound imbecile clumsily grasping some poor girl by the neck. Instead, she started when she discovered she was surrounded by five of the hulking beasts, each with a vicious grin adorning his face.

"Well, bugger me. Look what we gots 'ere," snarled one, "A little tart come what to keep us wolves fed."

Anna reached for her sword, but quickly found her arms indisposed as a pair of the brigands held her back. "Agh, lemme go!" she shouted at them, "You don't know who you're up against!"

The group laughed insultingly. Anna felt coldness churning in the pit of her stomach as the brigand from before leered at her, "It's been a li'l while since me an' the lads 'ad such a pretty girl all to ourselves…"

"Don't!" she pleaded, "I can make it worth your while, guys! I'm totally loaded, just put me down a sec, and…"

"'Ow dumb do you think we is, lass?" he came within an inch of her face, then placed his finger under her chin, "Eheheh… You're roight adorable, luv."

Anna reacted the only way she could. Surpassing the initial disgust, she struggled forward and bit his finger, "Out of your league, big-and-brainless." She felt demonstrably less confident when she realized she hadn't managed to free herself.

"Agh," he flailed his hand in pain, "Sodding bitch. Just kill 'er lads. It'll be more fun."

Anna struggled again and managed to kick her leg loose, striking one brigand in the face. She caught the other at her leg almost as quickly, while he was stunned, and slipped out of the grasp of the other two by bounding for the door. Now prepared, she resumed her stance, blade in tow, and sliced at the enraged beasts as they poured out of the house. Still, they had the advantage in numbers, and one cut into Anna's side with a broad swing of the axe. With a rush of searing pain, she collapsed. She gritted her teeth and tried, to no avail, to move her leg as the brigand loomed over her. She shut her eyes as she felt a warm spurt of blood splash onto her face.

Then her eyes wrenched open when she realized it wasn't her own. "Agh!" cried Robin, the axe tracing a line parallel to his shoulder blade. He swept the brigand's feet out from underneath him, then leapt onto the man with ferocity Anna had never seen before, tearing into the man with his blade. Anna watched as he stuck the brigand's chest, over and over, his grunts resounding over the wretch's screams, until, eventually, Robin's face and arms were painted with scarlet blood. "Chrom!" he called, falling, "Anna… needs help." His head dropped into the grass.

[*]

Robin sat up in the tent he recognized as the medical tent, grasping his head. He rubbed his face, feeling sore all over his body.

"Oh, sorry," he recognized Anna's voice as her face peeked through the tent flap, "I didn't know you were undressed." She didn't move. She cursed herself, but she stared lasciviously at his chest, his entire midsection and shoulder adorned by bandages. He was cut, damn him.

"Undressed," he repeated, looking to his legs, relieved to note that he was still wearing pants, "Oh, it's fine."

"May I?" she inquired, gesturing at the tent flap.

"Sure, come in," he allowed, waving her through. "Are you all right, Anna? Have you been sleeping?" he noted the bags under her eyes, not typical of the merchant girl. She was certainly one to get her beauty sleep.

"I'm fine," she dismissed, touched, if not incredulous that he gave a damn about her sleep, given his current state, "I'm more worried about you. How are you holding up?"

He placed a hand on his shoulder, and, though she could see him wince, he smiled and rotated it, "I've had worse."

"You are so full of it," she laughed weakly, "I haven't been able to sleep for days, worrying about you, and now you're making a joke of it…"

He watched tears well into her eyes, "I'm sorry, Anna. I didn't mean to upset you. I appreciate that you were so concerned, I was only hoping to—"

"Not that," she wiped her face with her sleeve, clearing her throat, "J-Just… don't go getting hurt like that again, okay?"

"Only if you'll promise to do the same, for my sake," he smirked.

"You… You weren't worried about me, were you?" she wondered, thinking back.

"I… wouldn't want any of my friends hurt," he concluded, looking away, "Seeing that bastard attack you… I don't know, it triggered something for me. Anyway, if you leave, who the hell else can I talk to around here?"

"That's true," she smirked. Rapping her fingers on her chin, she asked, "Now, really, how do you feel?"

They stared at one another for a moment before Robin lay his head back down onto the cot, "…A little lightheaded."

"Want me to leave you to rest?" she inquired.

"No," he smiled, "I find a better cure is… pleasant conversation." He winced again, "And maybe a little tea for my nerves."

"All right, I see your strategy, Mr. Tactician," she touted, "Lucky for you I'm happy to take care of you until you're all healed."

"Thank you, Anna," he sighed, "You're always so kind to me, and in return I ordered you to your death."

"Don't be ridiculous," she smiled, "I had 'im right where I wanted 'im."

"Now who's full of it?" he smirked.

"Then I guess I was lucky to have a great protector like you around," she concluded airily.

He shut his eyes, "That settles it. From now on, you and I are sticking together in combat."

She laughed, then looked at him, trying to ascertain if he was serious, "You mean, like, always? You want to be… beside me all the time?"

"Sure," he declared, pleased, "We have a remarkable parity, Anna, there's no denying we're at our best when we fight together. Plus, I couldn't bear to think of seeing you hurt again."

"So, you want to stand at my side always, to have and to hold, and are concerned about my health and well-being? This is starting to sound like a different kind of proposal altogether, Robin," she giggled.

He blushed and looked up to her, "Uh… I didn't mean it quite like that. I was only saying… er, what I meant was that…"

"Relax," she giggled again, "I was just pulling your leg. I know what you meant, and I'd be happy to have so fierce a defender at my side."

"That's good," he breathed with relief.

"'Good?'" she cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes… It's, er, good, isn't it? That we can help each other like that, as friends?"

She laughed outright, "Yeah, Robin… It's good."

He rolled his eyes and smirked self-deprecatingly as she laughed at him, then shut his eyes again, "Gods… I'm tired, but my back is killing me."

"You know," Anna mused, poring over the tactician, who was sprawled out on the cot on the floor, "I've been told I give a killer back rub."

"I would be so grateful…" his grin was stretched with fatigue. He rolled onto his stomach and sighed contentedly as the merchant girl's soft fingers began to caress his burdened shoulders.

[*]

"What was so bad about that?" Morgan asked as her mother finished, "It was really cute and sweet at the end."

"The end's not the part that gets me, dear," Anna discerned.

"Oh, I see," Morgan realized, "it was when father was attacked. You were convinced he was dead, weren't you?"

"Were I not so tired in that moment, I might have screamed in agony, rushing over him and sobbing as I endeavored desperately to tend to his wounds" Morgan's mother admitted.

"Do you think he knows that?" Morgan asked the ceiling.

"I'm sure he does… He made good on his promise: not a battle went by that he wasn't at my back or my side, as I his," she recalled.

"Aw," Morgan cooed, "Father's such a good guy, isn't he?"

"As good a man as ever I've known," Anna confessed. Her daughter giggled into a hum as she finished arranging the massive inventory, prompting her mother to ask, "What's so funny, young lady?"

"Nothing, mom," the little redhead smiled, "Just glad you found your knight in shining armor."

"Your father is hardly a paragon of-" Anna began sarcastically.

"Oh, knock it off and just accept it, you love him," Morgan shushed her.

"I suppose I do," Anna admitted, a smile on her face.

"Do you think he knows that?" asked Morgan, who never let a question drop.

[*]

"Aw..." Anna giggled, tracing her finger down the weathered page carefully.

"What's that you're reading, Anna?" inquired a voice from on high. She raised her head to greet the eyes of the tactician, who was smiling uncharacteristically.

"My family's logbook. I was reading about one of my sisters on a different continent and her boyfriend and later husband, Jake. A cute couple, they were," she recounted, fondling the page.

"So you Anna sisters do get married," Robin thought out loud.

"Well, of course. We can't have the family just end," she noted.

"But suppose you have a child that isn't an Anna?" Robin wondered.

"I've never known that to happen," she denied, not looking up from her book.

"...So," the tactician digressed, "What was this 'Jake' like?"

"A bit of a roguish sort," Anna mused, looking back over the handwritten scrawl, "but as sweet and caring a lover as any man. It's clear he loved my sister like it was the last thing he would ever do."

"As should any husband," Robin remarked to the merchant girl's deaf ears.

Suddenly, the redhead slapped the book shut and crossed her arms, "Why can't I find someone like that?"

"Anna?" Robin was surprised to find her so taken with the romance.

She stood with the book in hand and lamented, "Every man I've ever met only cared about this," she slapped her open palms vaguely about her hips, proximally to her rear, "or this," she jingled the incessant pouch of coins on her belt.

"Surely you don't think that about every man you've met," Robin hoped.

Her passion blinded her to his hurt expression, "Oh no, it's every last one. I can't just find a man to love me for me... All I've got are perverts and money-grubbers. Where's my inauspicious hero with a heart of gold who loves me with his all?" Robin's lips parted, but she continued to ignore him, "I'll never find my Jake. I'll just be alone and bitter, all my life." She pouted visibly with her bottom lip.

"It doesn't have to be like that..." Robin supposed for her.

"Oh? And who's going to change it? You?" she spat in a blur of frustration.

"Well, I could-"

"A few pretty words and a smiling face aren't enough to change this girl's story, Robin," Anna lamented, "I need a real man to show me some real affection."

Only now did she notice the deep frown on his face. She stared at his eyes, gripped with a deadness as though she had driven a stake through him. "Naturally," he managed gruffly.

"Is something wrong?" she wondered absentmindedly.

"No. I should be getting back to work," he decided.

"Was there something you needed?" she asked again.

"My questions were answered," she had been staring back at the log, but lifted her head to spy a bundle of yellow flowers fall to the earth, absent the tactician.

Her eyes widened in realization as she parted from her internal monologue. She called after him, "Robin, I didn't mean it! I didn't mean you, so much as..." She sighed. He likely wasn't listening, even if he could hear her.

[*]

"So why did you hold out hope?" Chrom asked, sipping down the last of his glass of wine.

"I didn't," Robin laughed, "Right up to your wedding, I had a suspicion that everything she was doing was some kind of elaborate, sick joke?"

"And when did that change?" the Exalt pressed.

"When I found a yellow rose pressed into her log on the same page," the tactician smiled fondly. He and the Exalt sat and gathered their thoughts for a moment before the tactician declared, "But enough talk. Look at you, sitting on your ass, sipping wine, listening to stories, the people would be within their rights to revolt!"

"Oh, piss off," the Exalt smiled.

"I should love to," Robin quipped, "I'd like to see my family, and I've needed a piss since before I started telling this story."

"Goodnight, you damned clown," the Exalted shooed him away.


	7. Deposit

VII

"Moonlighting again, eh?" Robin shut his eyes as he heard the voice he had become so accustomed to approach him. She met his side and threw herself down into the grass with him, "Busy out here?"

"No, thankfully," he resolved with a smile.

"And look at you, grinning like a Cheshire cat! What's with you now?" she giggled.

"Aren't you pleased that the war is over?" he asked.

"Of course. It's good to be at peace again, I can jack my weapon prices up without feeling bad," she noted to the sky.

"That can't be the only thing you're thinking about," he lamented.

"…Why?" she wondered, "What were you thinking?"

He rolled his eyes, "Maybe about two or three nations' worth of people who don't have to fight and die anymore."

"Oh," she stammered, "Of course, I'm glad about that, too. I thought that went without saying."

"Mm-hm," he surmised snidely.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes to denote her lack of comment. She ran her hands through the grass a moment, feeling its supple dew on her skin before raising a new line of inquiry, "So, what about you?"

"What about me?" he echoed.

"Use your head, genius," she rapped her knuckles on his temple, "War's over. What good is a strategist now?"

"A fair point," it was clear by his tone that Robin didn't know either, "Chrom has promised me asylum in the castle here in Ylisstol for as long as I need…"

"Have you seen that guy?" Anna chuckled, "His whims change on the drop of a hat. I wouldn't count on that welcome lasting forever."

"I don't," Robin reassured himself.

"So then," the redhead smiled mockingly, "does our master tactician have a plan for outside of war, too?"

"I suppose I'll need a job…" he suggested aloud.

"That you will," she contributed uselessly.

Pausing, he turned to her, "Does that mean you have a suggestion?"

Her eyes widened and she turned her head away, "No. Uh, I dunno. That's… who knows?" Regaining her composure, she restated, "No, no suggestions here."

"None at all?" he pressed.

She writhed under the grin he wore that told her he knew what she was thinking, "Uh, nope… nothing." She joked nervously, "What kind of job could you do, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "I don't really have any skills that aren't combat-related… That I know of."

She laughed more confidently, "Good luck, then."

"Maybe I'll try retail," he pointed, "that definitely doesn't take much presence of mind."

"All right, arsehole," she stood indignantly.

"Sit," he commanded, "I was only making a joke. I didn't mean anything by it, Anna."

She stuck her tongue out at him, "Of course you didn't, you don't even have the wit to avoid insulting a girl who can see you paying extra for all your life."

"Guilty as charged," he held up his hands, "But, to my credit, my next closest friend could have me beheaded for insulting him."

She laughed quickly, "I guess I can see that reasoning."

"Are you letting me have something? What's gotten into you today?" he smiled again.

"Ugh," she rolled her eyes, "I can't stand to see you smile anymore. It always means you're trying to be clever, and you're always wrong."

"Aw," he lamented ironically, wiping his palm over his face, "You mean you wouldn't miss this?"

"I wouldn't miss it if I was throwing a punch," she added.

He scoffed contentedly, "Oh, forget it. You can't hurt me tonight, I feel too good. Look at the stars out there. Don't they seem to shine just a bit brighter on a night like this?"

"Mama always used to say 'Whenever stars are most aglow, in there is much joy, I trow. And when the next day's sun is low, luck be unto you, I know,'" Anna recited with a quick rhythm.

"I like it," Robin applauded earnestly, "Does that mean I ought to thank my lucky stars I'm here with you?"

She blushed, "Robin, what are you saying?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise at her surprise, "That I'm happy to have my greatest friend here with me on the happiest night of my life. Is that strange?"

She shook her head, smiling broadly, amused by his obliviousness "No, nothing strange. That's all very sweet of you to say, Robin."

"Then why do you seem so…?" he gestured meaninglessly to his face with his hands.

"Hush," she put a finger over his lips, "Let's go ahead and thank those stars for this moment… And for many more to come, just like this one."

"That, I can agree to," he surmised, lifting his head to the stars as they sat side by side in the sparkling grass.

[*]

"Oh my GODS!" the little redhead's eyes sparkled, wide as dinner plates, "You said that to each other by starlight?! That's so cute I think I'm gonna die!"

"Please don't," her mother quipped, rubbing the back of her neck, "Your father would never forgive me."

"Oh, it's so adorable, I can't take it!" she swooned. "By starlight!" she repeated, before imitating gagging noises.

"I'm starting to get the sense that you're making fun of your mom, kid," Anna scowled as her daughter flew from each side of the room, grasping at her throat.

She stopped in the middle of the floor, "Of course not! I love you, mom! I just can't get over how sweet you and dad were together; it's like a little girl's dream: my parents are the only romance stories I'll ever need!"

"Except they aren't stories," Anna noted, "they happened, and they're part of who your father and I are."

"Uh-huh," Morgan nodded, "and I love 'em!"

Anna laughed good-naturedly. If this was to be the extent of her daughter's quirks, well… she could live with that. "C'mon, it's about time for us to start heading back."

"Mother?" Morgan asked.

"Yes, honey?"

She pressed her index fingers together, "We don't get to do a lot of mother-daughter shopping. Can you help me pick out a dress?"

"Didn't you just get a new dress the other day?" Anna recalled.

Her daughter's eyes shifted to each side, "Yeah… but…"

Watching her a moment, Anna comprehended what her daughter seemed afraid to say, "Well, sure thing, honey. You need that little feminine touch to your clothes that ol' dad can't provide, huh? We'll find you something. Come away, I know a good tailor who owes me a couple of favors…"

[*]

"Hi, Chrom!" the redhead bounced into the room.

His brow shifted, "Oh, er, good morrow, Morgan. Where is your father?"

"At home," she remarked plainly.

"…Then why are you here?" the Exalt wondered.

She pressed her finger to her cheek and cleared her throat, "What did daddy say? He can't come in today because, 'Both Anna and I are feeling ill and in need of a respite, but I feel confident that Morgan can help you to accomplish whatever need you had of me today.'" She extended her hand with a giggle, "Pleased to be doing business with you, Exalt Chrom."

He took it, "…er, likewise."

"So, what's on the agenda for today, boss?" she saluted eagerly.

"Well," Chrom mused, "you're already more deferential than your father. At any rate, today we're to discuss the flow of weapons trade through the country, and to discuss ordinances for the construction of new marketplaces interested in selling those sorts of armaments, among a few other types of shops. I had hoped your father would be able to deliver a salient comment on the status of socioeconomic conditions in Ylisse, as well as speculate to the demand for weaponry and the question of its legality given the end of the war…"

"Uhh," Morgan yawned, "I'm not gonna lie, Chrom: that sounds _so_boring…!"

"Yes, well," he chuckled, "as your father and I have discovered, leading a nation is about ninety-eight percent boring stuff. For whatever reason, though, he seems to live for all this damned paperwork."

"Nuh-uh," she rebutted, "he complains about paperwork every day when he comes home."

"Really?" the Exalt's brow rose with interest.

"Sure. But, I guess that makes sense, doesn't it? To act different around one's boss," she speculated.

The exalt paused and evaluated the girl a moment before posing, "Morgan… what do your mother and father talk about at home?"

She raised an eyebrow, "I don't know, lots of things. Why do you ask?"

"To be honest, I'm just curious as to exactly how different your father is from when he's here," Chrom admitted.

"Oh," Morgan considered, "Hm…"

"It's fine if you'd rather not—"

"Oh!" she jumped, "I can tell you a story they told me about before I was born. Which, I guess, is still technically now, but…" She shook her head, confused by the whole subject, "I mean before I joined the Shepherds. This me. Right here."

"I see…" Chrom thought, "Well, if you wouldn't mind, I suppose I should like to hear it."

"Let's see…" she cleared her throat, "How did it go again? I think it started with…"

[*]

Anna yawned broadly and sighed aloud. It had been quite a long day, and she was more than ready to retire from it. The sun was setting quickly, the last traces of light fading from beyond the hill, but Anna wouldn't need the dark of night to coax herself to sleep tonight. Before she could make the short walk to her tent, she decided on a quick detour with a small smile about her face. Stepping quietly, she brought herself to the threshold of the tactician's tent and parted the flap, peeking her head inside. She noticed the difference in the area immediately: candles were out, she couldn't see the tactician, and an open bottle or two adorned the floor messily. She shook her head in disbelief and walked into the tent to find the young man huddled miserably onto his cot, his eyes tightly shut. "Uh… Robin?" she called. His only response was a short breath. "Robin," she called again, "are you okay? Can you hear me?" Again, no answer. Rolling her eyes, the merchant sat herself delicately down by the tactician's head and stroked his hair, whispering softly, "Robin? Wakey-wakey, eh, tactician-boy?"

Finally his eyes parted unceremoniously, strained by the scarce light, he cocked an eyebrow at the redhead, "Anna? What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she withdrew her hands hastily, "I was just… checking in on you, that's all."

"I already get enough of Tharja watching me sleep," he coughed, scratching his head.

She assumed indignation, "As if. I was just making sure you weren't dead. I can be on my way, now."

"All right, then," he dismissed.

She stopped in place and faced him, "What? You don't… you don't want me to stay a little longer?"

"No, I'll be fine," he waved her off, "Go on."

"You're sure?" she bit her lip instinctively.

"Positive," he stared at the opposite wall of the tent.

She frowned, "Uh, all right, then. Night, Robin."

"Night," he returned.

She left the tent as softly as she entered and, shrugging her shoulders, began to trudge back to her own tent, the dissatisfaction etched into the creasing of her eyebrows. Before long, she had returned to the small tent that was her own, and reclined into a chair provided to her, examining the pile of goods she had ported with her for this little business venture. Dark was setting in, but, suddenly, Anna no longer felt tired, and so she elected to pick the trinkets out of the pile, one by one, examining each in full, not aware of what she was looking for in each one, but determined that there was something to find. She looked to a pretty, but dulled sword, a pockmarked book, a tarnished silver spoon, and then found a small bear doll. She was amused by the look of the plushy little thing, fondling it in her hand, flailing its limp limbs about for a moment, and shortly after realizing it was quite similar to the cute bit of fluff that adorned her belt. She put them beside the other and smiled, glad she had found a match for her soft, tiny companion.

She started in surprise when Chrom's footfalls made themselves known, "I see you're still awake, Anna."

She placed a hand over her chest, "And barely alive after the scare you gave me! Cough or something, geez!"

"I want to talk about Robin," he announced.

"Don't we all," she resolved enigmatically, returning to her bears.

"Anna, I don't think he's well, and I'm worried for him," the prince supposed.

"So? You're his best buddy, why don't you go check on him?" she breathed.

"Loath though I am to say it," the prince muttered uncomfortably, "I can't exactly provide the… er, charm that a young lady might."

She slapped her open palms on the desk on her thighs and whipped around to face the prince, "What do you want me to do, run in there, blow him a kiss, show him my butt, wink, and scuttle back out, giggling like a schoolgirl? Go away."

"It's not that," Chrom blushed, "I… I just mean to say… well, he's comfortable around you, Anna, more so than me. Surely you can see that."

"And?" she was unconvinced.

"And… Anna, I think he's in a place… where he needs someone who he isn't afraid to be… open with," the blue-haired prince was struggling over his words again.

"And you think that's me, more so than you?" she recounted.

"Yes," he surmised, relieved, "So, will you just go look to him? I would really appreciate it." She stood up, sighing, though inwardly a bit enticed by the opportunity to have another justification to see what was going on with the young tactician. Chrom nodded as she passed him by, and they both parted her tent's flap, diverting in opposite directions. It was another short walk before she was standing in the tent again, facing the young man who now looked utterly pitiful. It was the worst state she had ever seen him in, stroking and scratching at his hair pathologically, another of the bottles she had seen earlier pressed into his lips, his cloak was askew along his shoulders. She stepped forward, surprised he hadn't taken notice of her and dropped to her knees, waving a hand in front of his face.

Only then did the tactician reply, his eyes perceptibly glazed over, "A-Anna? Please don't. G-Go." He flailed his palm at her in an effort to ward her away.

"Oh Robin," she sighed with gently mocking pity, "What have you done?"

"I-I…" he stuttered, "Leave me alone…"

"As I live and breathe," she laughed pityingly, "I never thought I'd find you, of all people, at the bottom of a bottle. I thought you too smart for that, Robin."

"I'm glad you find it so damn funny," he snarled, "now just let this sleeping dog lie."

"Sorry," she recovered, "That was… a bit uncouth. It's just very out of character for you, Robin. I swear I only meant well by it. What has you in such a bad way?"

"It's nothing," he grumbled.

"Wow, you're even obstinate as a drunk. That's an achievement," she lamented.

"Ha-ha," he laughed without humor, "You got your joke in, now leave."

"Do you think I would come all this way for a stupid joke?" she scolded, "I came here for you, Robin. Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't know," he clutched the side of his head, "I don't know. When I sit here, by myself, every night… Gods, I don't know, everything feels so… pointless."

"Most people in your position would say they find meaning in their work," Anna recalled, "and, ordinarily, so would you. Where's all this talk coming from?"

"It's always so damn quiet in here," he submitted.

"Quiet?" she wondered aloud, "Do you mean… you feel lonely?"

"I don't know what I feel," he sighed dryly, "I don't know anything. Forget it. Nobody cares."

"You know I'm here for you," she cupped her hand beneath his chin.

"I… you… How do you mean?" he stuttered, confused.

"Don't be dense, Robin," she rolled her eyes, "I walked out here in the middle of the night to see if you were all right. I guess, one way or another, I have to be concerned about you, don't I?"

"True," resolved the tactician's blank eyes, "Or you could just be patronizing me."

"Okay," she sighed, "I'm gonna do for you what my mother did for me." She produced the small bear she had discovered earlier and shoved it in the tactician's hands.

"What is this for?" he gauged the fluffy creature in his wavering palms.

"Remind you of anything?" she nodded to her belt. The tactician understood and nodded. "So, when you're feeling lonely, clutch that teddy close, or talk to him, or whatever you've got to do. Let it be a reminder that someone is always thinking about you, okay?"

He smiled bitterly, "What a… juvenile solution. I thought about setting this tent on fire tonight, and just laying down. And now you hand me a stuffed bear."

She frowned in stark concern, "Whoa, slow down. I'm just trying to help you feel better. It's not a personal comment."

"Well, thanks," he lamented, "Maybe there'll be one person weeping at my funeral. At least I can pretend like I'm worth something to someone."

"Stop that!" she shook him violently, "Don't you ever say that again, got me? Talk like that again and I'll put you in the ground myself!" He was rendered catatonic and unable to respond. Anna bit back the tears she hadn't noticed welling in her eyes, "Just… don't. Okay? Don't. I don't ever want to hear you talking about… doing that… ever again. You're not dying any time soon, and… a lot of people will be upset if you do. One most especially, who was so worried about you she tried giving you a stupid kid's gift to make you feel better. Whose stomach is twisting in knots while she hears you talking about… ending it. Just stop. Just stop." She repeated the phrase like an accursed mantra, with varying comprehensibility, until she collapsed, bawling, into his arms.

The tactician's face soured, "Anna, I'm sorry. I would never want to upset you. I… think the little bear's quite charming. Cute, that like a child, you would give me one of your favorite toys to cheer me up."

"If you're gonna go on another suicidal tangent, I'm leaving," she sobbed.

"No… I should thank you, Anna. For everything. I'm glad you're willing to go to such ridiculous lengths for me, and I'm sorry I returned your kindness with… insult," he hazarded a hand to her cheek.

She lifted her head in response, "That's what I want to hear."

"No more crying, then," he insisted, wiping away a tear from her face.

"No more melancholy, then," she echoed, staring back plaintively. He nodded and she buried her face into his shoulder. "I care about you, Robin. No matter what, I care, all right?" she insisted.

"I know," his shaking arms held her.

Daylight came, and Chrom walked nonchalantly into the tactician's tent to reassure himself of the young man's safety and to begin the day for them both. He paused, seeing the redhead draped over him, caressing his face, a small stuffed bear wedged between their meeting chests, which heaved in unison, and decided that now might not be quite the appropriate time.

[*]

"I always did wonder what those two were up to that night," Chrom concluded.

"That's not exactly emblematic of father's behavior," Morgan realized, "but I suppose it does characterize his relationship with mother."

"Thank you, Morgan. That was very interesting. Now, what do you say we get down to some work?" the exalt offered.

"Fine," sighed the redhead.


	8. Services Rendered

VIII

Anna whistled cheerfully, taking short strides around the camp. It had been overcast most of the day, so a number of the Shepherds refused to exit their tents for fear of rain. Anna never did much mind the rain, though. She found it relaxing, even when it was pouring right onto her head. At any rate, working day in and day out in a hot, cramped market stall while the sun beat down on her brow had taught her to appreciate the calming neutrality of a cloudy day. She could guess there would be one another person in the camp who might share her enjoyment of the darkened day, and so walked briskly toward his tent. But she paused a moment when she heard something from within. Quickly, she recognized it as his voice, but she knew he wasn't speaking. He was making a noise, grunting repeatedly, she discerned. She inhaled deeply, a bit pensive about what she was about to walk in to, then pushed the tent flap open.

"Argh… 47, 48, 49," he counted on the floor.

She wiped her forehead. He had been doing push-ups. "So that's what all that noise was about. What are you up to, Robin?"

He fell to the floor with her first utterance, "Seriously, is it out of the question for you to say something when you barge in like that? I was… in the middle of something."

"I see that," she nodded, "I thought you had already finished your practice for the day."

"I have…" he sighed, "I was just, you know, doing a little extracurricular work."

"And why is that?" she pressed.

"No special reason, I just want to make sure I can keep up, that's all," he dismissed, now fixing his posture, sitting across from the redhead.

"Mm-hm," Anna mused, glaring at him, evaluative, "So, what's her name?"

"Beg pardon?" he raised an eyebrow.

"The girl you're trying to impress, what's her name?" she repeated.

"Honestly, Anna," he scoffed, "you get the strangest ideas. I'm not doing this for any girl, I just want to make sure I'm up to par."

"Up to par, eh? For who?" she continued.

He rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration, "No one, all right? It's just that… next to Chrom and Frederick and Stahl and… hell, even Sully, I feel downright…"

"Inferior?" she punctuated.

"I… didn't say that," he frowned.

"You were thinking it," she surmised.

"Whatever," he huffed, "I don't really need you here making fun of me. Just let me get back to my work."

She rolled her eyes at him and chuckled, "I don't think you'll ever understand how foolish you seem."

"I mean it. If you're just going to joke, you can see yourself out," he directed a finger to the tent flap.

"No, genius," she laughed, "I mean, you feel like you're not up to snuff against guys like Chrom when you're maybe a pace behind in physical strength, meanwhile you're at least two full strides ahead in wit, charisma, and… er, well, you get the idea."

"I appreciate it, but I'm not going to be satisfied until I'm sure I'm at their level, at least," he breathed, determined.

"Fine. If you're so dead-set on this, then maybe I can help. I can show you my special routine that's kept this figure," she rubbed her abdomen proudly, "for about a decade."

He exhaled, examining the floor a moment, the lifted his head, "That… might not be a bad idea."

"Thought you'd like it," she patted his knee, "Tomorrow, by my tent, sunrise. Don't forget." He nodded.

[…]

Robin rubbed his arms quickly in the cold of the early morning, then moved his hand to pull at his rebelling eyes, which refused to remain open. He parted the tent flap carefully, then whispered in, "Anna?"

"Behind you," she announced.

He leapt up, "Honestly, I think you're going to be the death of me."

"Uh-huh. I woke up early for you, you know? Let's get to work," she commanded, "Lie down."

He obeyed, "All right."

"Let's start with some easy ones: Sit-ups, sets of twenty. I'll hold your legs," she directed. He complied, picking himself up repeatedly. Once he had repeated the process ten times with a breather after the fifth, she proceeded, "Now, how about a little morning run?"

"Honestly, it sounds awful, but I'll do what I have to," he lamented.

"Come on," she smiled, jogging in place, "It's not that hard. Honestly, this is my favorite part." He followed her as she ran around the outskirts of the camp. By the time they had returned to their original position, the sun had finally risen in full and was painting the sky pink and orange as they slowed back into the spot by Anna's tent. Robin panted, wiping the sweat from his brow, and flopped down into the grass. "Okay," she grinned, "we're about a quarter of the way through." He let out a distasteful, loud sigh as she commanded him onto his hands and knees for two hundred push-ups.

Determined, finishing the final repetition, he panted, "What's next?"

"Next is the other fun part. Hold this," she handed him a large wooden crate. He rolled his eyes again.

[…]

"Last set," she encouraged, "I'll do it with you!" She lowered herself to the ground on one hand. "Move it, tactician! One! Two! Three! …" she kept counting, focusing on managing her own weight until she heard a thud to her side. She turned to find the tactician, face buried in the grass. She sighed, "Okay. Nice job, Robin. Come on, get up." She shook his shoulder, but the tactician refused to move. A bit distressed, she rolled him over so she could see his eyes, which had closed. She shook him again for certainty, but only worried herself further when he didn't move once more. Quickly, she began to pound on his chest and attempt to slap his face in an effort to wake him. His eyes parted with a series of short breaths, just in time to catch one last slap across the face.

"Ow!" he replied, "Darling, we must stop meeting like this."

"You asshole," she frowned, moving herself away.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to show you I'm all right," he sighed.

"What happened there?" she insisted.

"I just felt lightheaded, and, suddenly…" he gestured toward the grass.

"What did you eat for breakfast?" she asked.

He rubbed his forehead, "Breakfast?"

"Yes, your morning meal," she rolled her eyes, "What did you eat?"

"Oh, that," he shut his eyes again, "Never had time for it."

"You did all this on an empty stomach?" she railed.

He scratched his neck, "Is that a problem?"

She buried her face in her hands, "How can you be so smart and not know these sorts of things?"

"Figures, though," he lamented, "I still couldn't finish a day of someone else's training routine."

"Would you knock it off?" she shouted, "That's not my training routine! I just do what everyone else does! I was only making that up!"

He turned to face her, "You were? Why?"

She clasped a hand over her mouth, mentally assaulting herself for having let the remark slip, "Er… I wanted to be able to help you, you know?"

He smiled and laughed, "You've always been a little off-kilter, Anna. Thanks regardless, but… what a strange thing to make up."

She laughed quietly, a little irritated by his comment, but happy that he seemed to dismiss it. "Y-Yeah… I know, silly."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say it was like you were looking for an excuse to be around me," he continued laughing.

"Right?" she compounded, "Y-Yeah, that would be… crazy…"

He finished laughing and rubbed his neck a bit more, "Care to get something to eat? All that fainting has made me a bit famished, you know?"

She chuckled alongside him, "Very funny. Sure thing, I'm starving. Know what they're serving in the mess?"

"No, but Sully's not on duty for another week, so my hopes are high," he stood and offered his hand. She took it and they walked off.

[*]

"So, no. If you want to exercise, fine, but you're on your own," Anna concluded.

"Aw, come on, mom," the smaller redhead was disappointed, "it's be so cool: mother and daughter, training together, getting into perfect sync, ready to dominate the world of business!"

"I really never will know where you got such a penchant for dramatics, young lady," her mother laughed softly, "but strength isn't exactly a huge factor in business. I gotta be able to defend the place, sure… but, that's what I have your dad for."

"What?" she growled, "No way! I won't settle for being anything less than father's equal!"

"Neither will I," smirked Anna, "but that doesn't mean I don't let him do the work sometimes."

"Fine… you two can be so boring," pouted Morgan.

Her mother shook her head and smiled, "Speaking of boring, how did your day as substitute whatever-your-dad-is-now go?"

"Well enough… It gets quiet in that big castle when there's no one speaking," Morgan recalled.

"Get a lot of work done?" the merchant continued.

"I tried to. People have awful handwriting around there; my eyes started to hurt after about an hour," she sighed, rubbing her eyes on being reminded of the sensation.

"Welcome to the adult world," her mother grinned.

"Maybe it _would_ be wise to leave these sorts of things to father," the little redhead supposed.

"Yeah," Anna took her daughter by the arm, "Your father's a good guy, taking care of us the way he does."

"By the sound of the stories you've told me, it sounds like he's just starting to get even, what with all the times you've taken care of him," Morgan commented.

"I think we're done here," Anna surmised, scanning the plains around her market stall, "Ready to pack it in?"

"Sure…" Morgan hesitated.

"But?" her mother anticipated her.

"…But… do you have a story for the road?" Morgan smiled.

Her mother sighed, "I guess I can think of something."

Morgan bowed appreciatively, "Yes! And make it a long one, this time! I can't pass any more time counting birds!"

"All right," Anna began walking, staring at the sky, "let's see… I know, on the subject of care, why don't I tell you a little something about your father? See, it started with…"

[*]

"Um… Tharja?" the redhead was pressing her fingers together.

"What do you want?" the dark mage refused to look up.

"Dark mages…" Anna scanned the room, filled to brim with scary sorcery paraphernalia, "You can read people, right? 'Look into their hearts,' or whatever?"

"Yes. Why?" the dark mage replied curtly.

"Do you think you could do that to someone for me?" the merchant wondered.

"And why would I do that?" the raven-haired woman snarled.

"It'd be a big help. Plus, I think we share an interest in this one," Anna determined. If there was one thing she knew, it was haggling.

"Are you asking what I think you're asking?" Tharja finally lifted an eyebrow.

"I was wondering if you could tell me about Robin," Anna nodded.

"No," the dark mage dismissed immediately, "And even if I could, I wouldn't help you."

"Why not?" the merchant scowled.

"You're trying to take my Robin away from me, you… charlatan," the raven-haired girl spat.

"'Your Robin?' I don't think so," Anna growled, then, more softly, "…uh, but you're wrong. I don't… um, that is… I'm not that interested in him."

"Lie to yourself all you want, it's not changing my mind," Tharja decided, lowering her face back to her array of spellcasting instruments.

"Tharja, please… I could really use this. I'm worried about Robin," Anna sighed.

"Worried?" Tharja's eyes widened, "Why, what happened?"

"N-Nothing," Anna put her hands out, "I'm just… concerned for him, is all."

"Well, now you've piqued my curiosity, damn you," the dark mage frowned.

"So, you'll do it?" Anna hoped.

"Bring me some of Robin's hair. Then we can talk," Tharja dismissed.

"Hair? Like, from his head?" Anna repeated.

"I don't care where it's from, as long as it's from Robin. From the head is probably best, though," the dark mage grinned deviously, "reaching anywhere else tends to get me in trouble."

Anna sighed and stepped out of the tent, relieved to be away from the strange mage. She inhaled deeply and stepped forward, ready to move to the tactician's tent. Stealing hair… she shuddered, this was easily the creepiest thing she had ever had to do. She hoped and prayed he wouldn't notice… Oh, gods, what might he think of her if he did? Would he see her as a simple pervert, or something worse?

"Oof!" Anna heard as something hit her forehead and caused her to double back.

She looked up to find the tactician, "Oh, whoops! I'm so sorry, Robin, I guess I wasn't really looking where I was going."

"That's all right," he rubbed his forehead, "but I did say 'hi' as you walked up. What's got you so focused?"

"Oh, nothing… there's just a lot on my mind," she dismissed enigmatically.

"Anything I can help with?" he offered earnestly.

"Nice of you to offer, but…" she caught herself, "Wait, actually, yes."

"Oh?" his eyes widened, "What is it?"

She thought quickly, "Um, I left a bracelet in your tent. Is it all right if I go and get it?"

"Oh. Sure, go right ahead," he lowered his eyebrows and said plainly.

"Thanks," she nodded hastily, "I just didn't want you to think I was skulking around your tent for no reason."

He chuckled briefly, "That would have been odd, yes. Is something the matter, Anna? You look… nervous."

"Me?" she replied a little louder than she intended, "No, what do I have to be nervous about? Nope, I'm just as right as rain!"

He cocked an eyebrow, but decided to move on, "Whatever you say, Anna."

She didn't bother making any further excuses and made straight for the tactician's tent, frowning with evident distaste as she examined the pillow that lay on his cot and plucked a few thin hairs from it, holding them in her palm like a rat infested with plague. She hurried back to the dark mage's dwelling, frightened to death that anyone would discover her in the midst of the act, but sighed with tremendous relief as she finally met with the raven-haired woman once more. "Here's your damned hairs," she shoved them into the woman's face angrily, "That was easily the most unsavory, disgusting thing I've ever had to do, and that's coming from a girl who was a thief most of her life!"

"Hmm… cute, but your petty grievances don't impact me," the dark mage mused, "Thank you for your assistance, however. You've been _very_ helpful." Anna couldn't help but be disquieted by Tharja's tone of voice and lascivious grin as she concentrated on the bits of hair.

"Will you do it, then?" Anna begged.

"Oh, I most certainly will," she smiled, letting her bangs obscure her face. She commanded Anna to remain quiet as she began to murmur to the collection in her palm, first whispering, then chanting more loudly, moving her hand rhythmically over them, and, at one point, invoking some sort of totem—Anna didn't care to ask—before her eyes seemed to go dark. It was a long few minutes as Anna set in the tent with the catatonic shell of Tharja. Tired of standing, she lowered herself onto the floor just in time for Tharja to startle both of them: "Ah! Gods!" She groaned painfully to herself.

"Well, what did you see?" Anna asked.

"Nothing," the dark mage gripped her shoulders protectively.

"What do you mean?" the redhead pressed.

"I mean I couldn't see or hear or smell or touch or taste anything!" Tharja huffed, frowning.

"So, you didn't get anything out of it?" Anna elaborated.

"Oh no," the raven-haired woman scowled, "I got more than enough."

"You have to tell me what that means!" Anna demanded frustratedly.

After a sigh, the dark mage stared at the merchant girl cautiously and reported, "It means I seem to have grossly misjudged our tactician. With how happy he is, one would think his heart would be filled with all sunshine and ice cream, but when I was there… all I ever found was a chill and a longing sense of sorrow. The memories that have faded from him… they seem to be nothing but an amalgam of pain."

"So… you think he feels that all the time?" Anna wondered.

Tharja nodded, "I only got a taste of the emotional gamut he runs every day. If those feelings were that strong for me… I can only imagine…"

"But… he seems so happy all the time," Anna was arriving at her own realization.

"It seems to come and go. He can repress the sentiment with his more recent memories," the dark mage contributed.

"Thank you, Tharja," Anna exhaled.

She shook her head and muttered, "Don't thank me. That just feels weird. If you really want to express gratitude… Well, whether I like it or not, he seems quite fond of you. Be kind to him, peddler woman, and keep his heart safe, because if you don't, I'll have you committed to the ground before you can say 'check, please!'"

Anna resented being called "peddler woman," but she thanked the Plegian mage again, regardless, and made her way out, deciding that she would have to confront the tactician, given the new information. She found him back in his own tent, looking over his desk at another book, as always, "Robin?"

"I thought you might be back here at some point," he surmised, not looking up, "What's going on, Anna?"

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"You know the answer: 'fine'" they announced simultaneously, "What's this about, Anna?"

"Does it have to be about something?" she folded her arms, indignant.

He still examined the page, "You're still worried about me, after the other night, aren't you?"

"No… I just… Robin, are you feeling okay? Is there anything you want to talk about?" she insisted.

"I feel perfectly fine. And I don't really have much to say right now," he sighed, "You've been acting so strange today, Anna, what are you getting at?"

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes, "Robin, I was helping Tharja to read into your heart today…"

"So, I was right," he noted.

"…And I didn't like what she had to say," she finished.

"Do you mean you think there's something wrong with me?" he wondered.

"Robin…" Anna placed a hand on his shoulder, "What I want to ask is why you keep smiling all the time. I know you're in pain, I could see it written in Tharja's eyes. There was no mistaking what she saw, so why don't you want to speak of it? Why do you just keep going on like there's nothing wrong?"

He turned to face her and smiled sidelong, "Sometimes, Anna, when there aren't any tears left, no more melancholy to be felt, all we can do is smile… and move on. Does that answer your question?"

[*]

"What? That's where you're stopping?" Morgan pouted.

"We're almost home, dear," Anna gestured to the house, "besides, I think you get the message I was trying to impart."

"That dad is miserable?" the little redhead half-joked.

"That your father could be miserable but chooses to be happy. Same goes for you, short stuff: you can choose to be disappointed, or you can choose to love the cards you've been dealt," Anna corrected.

"That wasn't even a romantic story," Morgan continued to complain.

"I don't know, I thought there was something a bit sweet about her fetching hairs from my pillow just to find out if I was depressed," a voice Morgan recognized as her father's called out.

"How long were you back there?" his wife asked as he draped an arm around her from behind.

"Long enough," he grinned.

"I don't think I like that you can sneak up on me like that," Anna sighed.

"Relax, I swear I'll only use it for good," he put a hand on his chest and kissed her cheek. Next, he looked down to his daughter, "And how about you? How was your day, Morgan?"

"Boy, do I have a story for you…!"


	9. Payout

"So, a date, then?" she cocked an eyebrow at him, "You're asking me out on a date?"

"I didn't really mean it so much as a 'date,' I was just, you know, thinking maybe you might like to go into town and get something to eat... you know, together," he waved his hand.

"Sounds like a date to me," she nodded, smirking.

"Call it whatever you want," he sighed frustratedly, "do you feel like going or not?"

She laughed, "Sure thing, Robby-boy."

"Robby-boy?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, 'Robin' seems too serious and formal when I'm talking to you on a casual level. What do you think, like it?" she grinned.

"It sounds utterly juvenile," he dismissed.

"So, love it, then," she smiled more broadly.

"Please, I'm begging you, do _not_ call me that," he held a hand up in plea.

She rolled her eyes and laughed, "Well _now _I _have_ to."

"Ugh..." he sighed in distaste, "What is it with thieves and their compulsive need for embarrasing nicknames?"

"Locksmith," she corrected, "LOCK-SMITH. Get the difference? Anyway, what are you on about? Does Gaius have a nickname for you, too?"

"Unfortunately," he sighed.

"Ooh!" she jumped, "What is it?"

"What do you care?" he wondered.

"I just have to know, please?" she begged.

He rolled his eyes, "For whatever reason, he calls me 'Bubbles.'"

"Bubbles?" she could barely contain her amusement, "Bwa ha ha! That's great! Aw, you're adorable when you're embarrassed, 'Bubbles!'"

He hid his face in shame, "Are we going to eat or not?"

"Sure, sure," she was still composing herself, "Ha ha... 'Bubbles.'" Robin rolled his eyes again.

[...]

"You can't do this," she frowned.

"Do what?" Robin picked his head up.

"You can't invite me to dinner and then just play around with your food while you hang your head. What's wrong?" she elaborated.

"Oh, nothing," he dismissed, realizing his posture and rising from the table, "I'm just... tired, is all."

"Mm-hm," she mused, "Come on, we know enough about each other to know that's a bunch of bull. What's the matter?"

"It's really nothing," he insisted, "I was just doing a little thinking."

"About what?" she pressed, exaggerating the last syllable and leaning over the table.

"Nothing... I was... Chrom..." he muttered.

"You were thinking about Chrom? Maybe I had you pegged wrong, Robin," she declared more to herself.

"I was... I... do you think I'm handsome?" he choked, immediately regretting what he had said.

"Do I think you're handsome? Why, what's on your mind now?" she smiled.

"Nothing, forget I said anything," he covered.

"Oh, please," she waved her hand, "Tell Anna what you're thinking about." He said nothing, moving a piece of his food and avoiding eye contact, "Is this about the other day? This whole tripe about not feeling good enough in comparison to the others?" she wondered.

"I... er, maybe," he hung his head again.

"Robin, knock it off," she sighed, "You'll never be happy comparing yourself to others all the time."

"I know," he sighed.

"Plus, I don't know, you don't look that bad," she mused, "You've got a decent body..." She pulled at his cheek, "And then these soft, pinchable cheeks, mixed with that stubbly chin."

"Ow," he cried, "Don't pull on my face like that!"

"I can't help it," she giggled, "You are kinda cute..." He stared at her playful eyes and she watched his disposition soften demonstrably. "Plus, I don't think I've met anyone who could match you for wit."

"I have," he resolved, "she's sitting right across from me."

She laughed, "Well, that's because, in a family of identical siblings, you have to either be the loudest or the most sarcastic if you want to get any attention."

"And I assume you fulfilled both?" he grinned.

"Very funny," she bit back with a smile.

"It's true, though," he digressed, "Most people, I feel I can get a read on before too long, but not you, Anna. Of everyone I've ever met, you're the one little anomaly that never fails to catch my intrigue."

She put a hand to her chest in half-mocking surprise, "And what could you possibly mean by _that_, Robin?"

"I didn't..." he paused, then smiled again, "Nothing, just that you're easily the most interesting woman I've ever met."

"I'll drink to that," she grinned, offering her glass.

"Humble, too," he remarked snidely.

"Now, why do you have to spoil things?" she lowered her brow at him, still grinning.

"Sorry, I guess I just love crashing your day," she suggested.

Her eyes widened a moment and her lips parted into a whisper: "Me too."

"What do you mean, 'me too?'" he wondered.

"Huh?" she feigned ignorance, "Er, must just be the wine talking. Come on, let's eat up, already. The food'll get cold."

"Right," he nodded with more than a hint of suspicion. They ate in predominant silence for several minutes until Anna elected to speak once more.

"Say, Robin. Do you think you'd ever marry?" she asked.

"Marry?" he swallowed, "I don't know, I hadn't given it that much thought. Still have a job to do, you know. That aside, though, I don't really know." After another moment of thought, he laughed, "I don't think I'd make for a very good husband."

"I think you'd make a wonderful husband," she smiled dreamily, "and I bet you would have some positively adorable children..." She giggled, "Hee hee, I can just imagine one of them putting on that big cloak of yours: 'Look, daddy! I'm a tactician, too! I'm gonna be just like you!'" She giggled more.

"Obviously you've given more thought to this than I have," he observed, "Is this going somewhere?"

She swallowed her tongue, "Uh, no. I was just, you know, thinking out loud."

"Heh," he chuckled, "You know, Anna, you're pretty cute, too. Especially when you get caught in a lie like that."

"Who's lying?" she refuted, shutting her eyes and folding her arms, "You thought I actually was in love with you? H-Ha, that's a good one."

"I never said that," he smiled lightly.

"W-Well," her concentration was broken, "it's a moot point, because I don't, okay?"

"Whatever you say," he shrugged. She pouted in evident frustration. He assuaged, "I'm just yanking your chain, all right? Let's finish up and get back to camp, okay?"

"Yes sir," she phoned in an amused salute.

"I can't believe it's this dark out already," he sighed, digressing, "We haven't been here more than an hour."

"I know, winter will be on us before long," she sympathized, letting her eyes fall and reserving further comment.

"I'm sorry," he cocked an eyebrow at her, "did I upset you somehow?"

"No," she shook her head loosely, "I just... don't care for winter very much. Cold and darkness were never much my things."

"Funny," he smiled, "I was always sort of fond of winter. ...That I can recall, anyway. Sure, the days are shorter, but everything gets muffled by the soft, white snow and the steel-gray clouds... for a while, everything's just nice and quiet. Beautiful."

"You have the weirdest tastes," she chuckled.

"Don't start with me about weird tastes!" he threatened, laughing.

[*]

"Haha," the little redhead giggled, "talk about a May-December romance."

"I don't think that's quite what that term means, darling," her mother noted, folding a shirt and dropping it into a wicker basket.

"No?" the girl was stumped, "Hmm..."

"I wouldn't get too hung up on it, honey," her mother digressed.

"Do you think father will be home in time to tuck me in tonight, mom?" Morgan diverted.

"You can count on it," the little redhead sprung to her feet as she heard her father climb the staircase, "Evening honey. And how's daddy's little girl today?"

"Aw, don't talk to me like that, daddy," she chided, not shying away from his hand as it ruffled her already tousled hair, "you make it sound like I'm about ten years old."

"You don't make it difficult," he joked.

"Hey, that's not very nice," she pouted, "I'm a mature, responsible girl. Aren't I, mom? Ask her, I've been helping her bunches at the shop."

"She does ease the ol' workload a bit," Anna complimented, looking down to her daughter.

"I'm sure she does. Your father was only kidding, Morgan," he rubbed her shoulder lightly.

"Well, now," Anna gripped her husband's shoulders, "to see you in some remnant of daylight. This is a rare treat."

"I do what I can," he smiled.

"For once, I don't have to strain my eyes to see yours," she continued.

"Yes, and for once, I can gaze upon the face that brings light to my life," he cupped a hand over her cheek.

"I can leave if you two need a moment to yourselves," Morgan quipped from the doorway. They each blushed in embarrassment.

"So, did that nutjob Chrom have you working on any big projects today, hon?" Anna inquired.

"No, just the usual stuff. Papers, papers, papers, story about 'glory days' as a Shepherd, papers, papers, half-drunken outburst, papers, papers," Robin recounted mechanically, "What about you? Any horror stories from the old stall today?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle alongside our daughter," Anna was pleased. Seeing her mother's smile and hearing the praise, Morgan was likewise pleased.

"Gee, Morgan, you're looking more like your mother every day," her father noted, looking over at her, "Maybe I ought to take you fishing, or something…"

"Ooh, I love fishing!" she exclaimed.

"Do you have a rod?" he wondered.

"Don't be silly, father! You know I'm a girl! Unless you were making fun of me, in which case, that's neither nice nor funny," she chuckled.

Robin blushed as his eyes sank, "Uh… I was talking about a _fishing_ rod, Morgan."

"What's that?" she put a finger to her cheek.

"Didn't you say you loved fishing?" Robin raised an eyebrow.

"Oh!" she started, "Um… yeah, of course I have… er, one of those. Had it since… I was little, yeah, definitely. I can get it… tomorrow."

Her father laughed, "It's all right, Morgan. If you've never fished before, it's fine."

She pressed her index fingers together,"I just wanted you to think I knew about the stuff you like…"

He embraced her, "It's all right, honey. I was joking to begin with, but your father will love you no matter what your interests. Even if you don't like something I like, that's okay."

"I know," she smiled, more than contented to be in his arms.

"Though, I do want to know why," he hesitated, "you thought I was referring to… er, where did you hear that word first?"

"One of my old romance novels. I keep bunches of 'em in my shelf. I'm kind of a connoisseur, of sorts," she announced proudly.

Robin shifted his gaze to his wife, "We might have to talk about what sort of books you're allowed to read, Morgan." Anna assented with a mildly disturbed nod.

"If you say so, dad," she frowned slightly, however, her face lit up once more when she was reminded of her news, "Mom was telling me about another one of your dates today."

"Oh, and which one was that?" he focused back on her amusedly.

"The one where you called her an 'anomaly,'" Morgan grinned knowingly.

He tugged at his collar, noticing his wife smirking over his shoulder, "I recall it being put in much more romantic terms than that."

"I don't," the taller redhead quipped.

"I've got a story I could tell her that would paint you in an unflattering light, too, you know," he surmised.

"Hey, I thought we talked about that…"she murmured.

Robin turned and noted his daughter, whose eyes had already widened in anticipation of the tale. "I'm only kidding,"he eased into a smile, "I can only say good things about your mother."

"I don't believe you," Morgan reported with a disappointed frown.

"Sorry, but it's the truth," he surmised, hooking his arm around the shoulder of his wife, who was visibly relieved.

"Fine. Will you at least promise to read to me tomorrow, father? It's a weekend," she begged.

"Of course, honey, but you can read well enough on your own, why do you want me to read to you?" he asked with interest.

She gazed at him simperingly, "No matter what's being read, it always sounds best from your voice." She stared at her feet, "That… and… it's something we both like to do. And we can do it together. You'll still read to me even when I'm as old as you, won't you, father?"

He could barely prevent his heart from melting at the smaller redhead's defeated plea, "Of course, darling. Your father will always be there for you when you need him. And so will your mother. I'm more than happy to spend time with you."

She flashed another bright grin, glad her plan had succeeded, "I know you will, father. I love you."

"I love you, too, Morgan," he cooed, kissing her forehead, "Now, your mother and I need some time to gather our thoughts."

"Yes," she compounded, responding more to her husband in clutching his shoulder, "We've been apart far too long for my liking. I feel we have some catching up to do."

"I can see past the euphemisms," Morgan remarked flatly, "and all I can say is 'yuck.' I'll see you two in the morning." The pair laughed as their daughter shut the door behind her.

[…]

"Robin," he heard his wife murmur as the blankets shifted, feeling her hand land on his chest.

"Even I have my limits, Anna," he panted dryly and groggily.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she loosely shoved his face, "I was going to say I can't sleep."

"So you wanted to wake me back up?" he coughed.

"Can you stop getting smart long enough for me to finish?" she demanded angrily.

"You mean you haven't yet? The way you sounded…" she could detect his smirk even in the pitch darkness. She slapped him promptly.

"I have something serious I want to talk about," she huffed.

"All right," Robin stifled a yawn. This was going to be trouble.

"That story you mentioned earlier…" she began.

"I only thought about it for a moment, Anna, and I apologize. I would never breathe a word of it to anyone," he insisted.

"It's…" she paused sleepily, "I was wondering… how do you remember that story? I can't recall it well for… obvious reasons."

"You really want to go back over this?" he rubbed his eyes.

"Yes," she determined, "I have to hear it right from the horse's mouth."

"All right, get comfortable," he cleared his throat.

[*]

Robin hummed contentedly. This was the first walk he had had the opportunity to take in several days. He was pleased: the sun was shining, but not unbearably hot, the grass was textured with the golden hue of the fading daylight, and he could smell a pleasant aroma emanating from the mess. Sumia must have been baking again. At once, however, he was halted by the realization that something about the day felt incomplete. He reexamined his day, cycling through the various tasks he had been presented with, supposing he had missed one. No, he had brought feed to the horses, helped with Frederick's tent inspection, performed his daily training routine, dug up a few extra carrots to make a soup for Panne, sat down for tea with Lissa, Ricken, and Maribelle, and had transcribed the last of his planned marching orders for the next day. He could think of nothing he had missed, and yet something still persisted in feeling undone. At last, realization hit him: he hadn't seen Anna since yesterday. Deciding the turn of events was rather amusing, he made his way to the merchant girl's tent quickly and quietly, and peered inside slowly, so as to ensure he was not intruding on something that would earn him a vicious verbal reprimand and ensuing physical one from the other lady Shepherds. "Anna?" he called lightly.

"Don't," he thought he heard.

Unsure if he had understood her correctly, he stepped forward and asked more loudly, "Anna, may I come in?" Hearing no reply, the tactician felt his concern outweigh his potential embarrassment and stepped into the tent, where it didn't take long for him to find the redhead, her face currently buried in her palm. "Anna," he commanded,"are you feeling all right?"

"Well if it ain't my favorite tacktishun," she sputtered in such a way that Robin was unsure if he was truly being addressed.

"Did you hurt your jaw, or something?"Robin wondered.

"Aw, no," she giggled, "I didn't hurt nothin'… You're so _worried_ about me…" She let out an excessively long and rather piercing laugh, "I'm peashy-keen!"

"Anna… have you been drinking?" Robin perceived.

"Jusht a spot o' wine with dinner, Bobby," she slurred.

"Robin," he corrected.

"Whatever," she smiled, aloof.

"How much have you really had?" he made sure to stare at her scoldingly.

"Really, jusht a little here and there,"she giggled, "and there, and there, and _there_." She gestured to bottles strewn about the small space.

He sighed, "Me, I could understand, but you, Anna? What are you drinking yourself into stupidity like this for?"

"You callin' me shtupid?" she frowned.

"In this instance, yes," he mirrored her.

"You really pish me of shometimesh," she continued to mutter, then suddenly lifted her head, "but itsh okay, cosh I think you're cute."

"Maybe you need a coffee or something, Anna," Robin frowned, looking about the tent, "to help you sober up."

"Nah-nah-nah," she tutted, standing, apparently ready to illustrate a point, "Theresh shomethin' that needsh shayin', here."

The tactician rolled his eyes, "And what might that be?"

She dropped back to her knees suddenly, grasping the tactician's shoulders with each hand, "I love you, Ron. I wanna kish you, and hold you, an' have your baybeesh." She giggled even more nonsensically than before.

"Anna," he supported her clumsy weight by holding her arms from underneath, "why don't you just lie down, or something?"

"You got it," she chuckled, smacking Robin in the chest to knock him over and land on top of him.

"Really, Anna, this needs to stop," Robin urged with increased nervousness.

"You can't shtop me...!" she grinned, pressing her lips sloppily onto those of the shocked tactician.

"Anna?" Robin recognized Chrom's voice, "Some of the other Shepherds have been asking about you, and... Oh, for Naga's sake..."

"'Ey, blue boy!" her bubbly voice indicated she failed to understand the gravity of the situation.

Chrom put his palm to his face, obscuring his eyes, "Robin, Anna, why is it when something's amiss, I always find it's because of you two?"

"Chrom, I was just trying to help her..." the tactician began to explain.

"And it looks like you 'helped' yourself in the meantime," the prince concluded, disgusted, "I might have expected such a scene from someone like Vaike, but you, Robin? Taking advantage of a drunk? That's positively reprehensible."

"I didn't-"

"I don't want to hear it," he growled, "Robin, if you have any dignity, you'll leave as soon as I turn around. And as for you, Anna... I don't know whose fault this is, but I recommend you clean yourself up and get sober straight away." He exited the tent, shaking his head derisively.

"Byeeeee!" she called after him gleefully.

The tactician pushed both his own weight and that of the merchant girl forward back into sitting positions. He sighed aloud, "There you go getting me in trouble again, Anna."

"Trouble?" she repeated sleepily, "Wash Chrom mad?"

"Very," Robin lamented.

"Aw, shucks, Tommy, I'm sorry," she patted his back.

"Enough of this," he wiped his shirt and stood, "You can figure things out for yourself, you lunatic."

"Wait, wait!" a more earnest voice pleaded as he felt a pair of hands grasp his leg, "I... didn't mean to get you in trouble... R-R-R... Robin."

He rolled his eyes and muttered something to himself, then plopped back down, "I know you didn't, Anna."

"I even got my besht friend in trouble," he watched tears pool in her eyes, "I'm no good to anybody!"

"Relax, Anna. It wasn't that bad," Robin consoled.

"No, it wash!" she determined, "Ever shinsh I left home, I been a shcrew-up, and now I did it again!"

"It's okay, Anna," he sighed, "I forgive you."

She continued to pout despondently. After a few further moments of lamentation, her head picked up to the tactician, "You wanna know why I got drunk?"

"Yes, why?" Robin encouraged.

"'Cause I was shad, Robin," she wiped her eyes.

"Oh?" he cocked an eyebrow at her, "Sad about what?"

"I wash shad, cush I washn't good enough, Robin. There'sh all thesh other pretty girlsh here with perfect figuresh and nice pershonalitiesh... What would anyone want with a plain ol' merchant girl?" she frowned, rolling her head.

"Good enough for what, Anna?" Robin wondered.

"Anyone," she remarked desolately, "My folksh, my shishtersh... In a crowd o' twinsh, nobody ever looksh at you twish, Robin."

"I see," he sympathized.

"Sho I'm either alone or I'm nobody. Shometimesh both," she continued, "Do you know how hard that getsh?"

"I have an idea," he smiled faintly, "But, did you forget, Anna? You're not with your sisters here. To us, you're one in a million. And remember what I said? You're the only person here I can't get a read on. You're special, Anna. At least, to me, you're special."

Her eyes pleaded with his for several seconds before she cried, "That'sh gotta be the nishesht thing anybody'sh ever shaid to me!"

"Everybody deserves a little kindness now and then," he smiled.

"Why are you sho nish to meee?!" she sniffled.

He paused, "I... Um, I care about-"

"That tearsh it!" she affirmed, "From now on, I'm gonna be jusht ash nish to you, R-R-R..."

"Robin," he sighed.

"Robin. Yeah, I'm gonna be like... We're gonna be like... I... We... I'm gonna be sho nish, you won't believe it!" she finally managed.

"I look forward to it," he half-smiled in amusment.

"Then you'll love me, and I'll have all your baybeesh..." she began to giggle again, "And we'll shnuggle together, and I'll show you what that Valmeshe woman taught me to do with my tongue..."

"Let's... just try to get some rest, all right?" he blushed, incredulous.

"You got it, bosh," she flopped her head onto his knee and was asleep in an instant. She began to drool before long.

[*]

"...I stayed with you most of the night, but I left because I was worried what you'd think if you woke up on my knee with a hangover," he concluded with a chuckle.

"I knew there was something missing when I woke up that morning," she recalled, "...Somehow, I don't think I would have minded if you had stayed."

"I didn't want to take any chances," he reaffirmed.

"You want to know something that you forgot, though, Mr. Tactician?" she touted.

"What's that?"

"Why did I get like that in the first place?"

"I thought you said it was because you didn't feel respected or loved by your family; that you didn't feel special," he recited.

"Nah," she drew herself up against him, "I could forget all of them, Robin. I was worried I wasn't good enough for _you_. I thought someone as interesting and intelligent as you could never have feelings for one so plain as me."

"What a silly thing to think," he shook his head, "You're the catch, here. I'm the boring one, bar none."

She laughed, "It's a wonder we ever got together, eh? Two people who never felt good enough for one another."

"I suppose that's true," he joined her, "But that just means we'll both never stop trying to make this work."

"I love you," she cooed, shutting her eyes and nuzzling into his neck.

"I love you, too."

They lay in silence for several minutes, inseperably affixed to one another.

"Anna?"

"Hm?"

"What _did_ that Valmese woman teach you to do with your tongue?"

"Goodnight, Robin."


	10. Salary

X

Another day with the Shepherds, another doubloon, Anna reassured herself, stepping out into the field for what was quite clearly a very regular sort of day. She didn't mind monotony, but she had figured that being embroiled in a war would involve more fighting and less marching and camping. That wasn't to say that she was in love with fighting, either, but it was strange that she saw so little of every conflict. Although, who was she kidding? She smiled to herself; she knew the reason she never found herself in danger, because of one person's efforts. He didn't think she would take notice, but she was aware. Feeling rather gracious and left with nothing else to do on such a day, the redheaded woman walked to that man's tent. When she drew near, she saw an extra shadow in the tent, at least a head shorter than the tactician. They seemed to be talking, so Anna leaned in.

"It's hard," the tactician admitted with a breath.

"I can tell," she could hear a girl reply with a sighing laugh.

"I just want to make sure I'm not hurting you," she could hear him chuckle.

"I'm fine, th-thank you," squeaked the girl. Anna could tell from the demure quality of the voice that it was the pink-haired dancer, Olivia, "Just use the tips of your fingers. It's so nice to not have to feel… scrutinized while I do this…"

"Any time, Olivia," she heard the tactician affirm, "but, wouldn't you rather have another woman do this?"

"I thought so, too," the dancer replied, "but I get so afraid that they're going to… _judge_ me." Anna could see the figure shudder, "The very thought makes my skin crawl."

"Judge you? On what? Don't they need this sort of thing, too?" he continued affably.

"…but I couldn't stand to think of them thinking about… what if I don't look good enough? Oh, it's torture, Robin! Torture!" the figure could barely restrain herself.

"Well, anything to make you more comfortable," the tactician resolved simply. "…And there we go. Ta-da," he laughed, "Is it okay? I hope so. Anyway, my door's open any time, Olivia… er, even if I'm not exactly an expert."

"You did just fine. Thank you again, Robin," she bowed and prepared to leave.

Anna was decidedly interested in what, exactly, they had been talking about, and feeling more than a little upset, she marched through the tent flap. "And what has Robin been doing, huh? Why's your door open any time for the dancer, but no one else?" the redhead demanded angrily. She stopped as she saw the tactician's hand drop from the dancer's hair.

"…B-Braiding my hair?" Olivia responded as if it were a question.

Anna's refuge in audacity had been broken entirely and she could now only stare blankly, "Oh… er, oh."

"W-What did you think was going on?" the dancer worried.

"I just thought… the way you were talking… Some of that stuff kinda sounded like…" Anna grasped, having completely lost her wind.

"Like…? What?" Olivia demanded nervously.

"Nothing, Olivia, she was just worried about you," Robin tried to diffuse her nerves.

"It doesn't sound like nothing! It sounds to me like she thought you and I were—"

"—H-Having some trouble!" Anna threw out, joining the tactician in trying to keep the dancer calm, "R-Robin helps me with my hair sometimes, too, and he's not the best at it."

He shrugged and laughed disarmingly, "Yeah, like I said, not an expert."

"Oh," Olivia's face informed them she was not convinced, "A-Anyway, I should get going." She moved quickly out of the tent, already more mortified than she could bear to admit.

"Now look what you did," the tactician remarked half-mockingly.

"Good morrow to you as well," she settled herself. He laughed noiselessly at her, shaking his head ruefully. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"I didn't take you for the jealous type, Anna," the tactician smirked, returning an evaluative eye to his desk.

"J-Jealous?" she started, "Of who? Who's jealous?"

"Come on," he laughed, "anyone could see how you burst in here."

"W-Well," she crossed her arms, "hearing that sort of thing from you with a girl… I wanted to make sure you weren't taking advantage of one of the Shepherds!"

"Do you really think that lowly of me?" his eyes sank.

"No," she huffed, "but don't go thinking I like you, either."

"Why do you have to be so confusing?" he rolled his eyes.

"I was actually coming to have a little chat with you, you know," she scoffed.

He looked back, "Well, that can still happen."

"I'd be more eager for it to if not for that little disturbance we just had," she remained indignant.

"What do you want? Do you want me to apologize for you overreacting?" he wondered.

"I…" she was unable to form a response, "M-Maybe…!"

"Or maybe you want me to apologize for not doing your hair right all those times," he added with a smile.

She was relieved and joined him, "Y-Yeah. Why do you keep screwing it up? It's simple!"

"I don't know," he admitted ironically, "with the zero practice I've had, you'd think I could get it right on the never-th try."

She laughed and lowered the pitch of her voice, "Well, you see, styling ladies' hair is all tactics…"

Robin raised an eyebrow, "That sounds nothing like me."

She descended into a more ludicrous voice, "I'm Robin, blah, blah, blah, strategy, blah, blah, blah, Chrom. Reading books makes me more important than you, blah, blah, blah."

He grinned at her challengingly and raised his own pitch, "Oh, Robin, did you see those sales I made? Aren't you glad I ripped off that family of four? Haha, suckers! Money, blah, blah, sales, blah, blah, prices, blah, blah. Robin, you're handsome. Robin, you're an asshole. Robin, you're cute. Robin, go away."

"That is the worst impression I've ever heard," she rejected.

"Ditto," he called back.

"We always get here one way or another, don't we? Half-bickering with one another," the redhead giggled.

"Just another facet of the great conversations we always have," he nodded.

"Does it ever bother you?" she wondered.

"Getting to speak with you, no. I just figured the arguing was your personality," he smirked in such a way that Anna was unsure to what degree he was serious.

Her smiled dropped slightly, "I'm not always this contentious, you know?"

"So it's just for me? Gee, thanks," he chuckled.

"I mean," she declared more earnestly, "I can be nice, too. I can be quiet and demure and ask you to braid my hair."

"Are you still on that?" he cocked an eyebrow, "I was just giving Olivia a hand, Anna. You know I would never want you to change."

"It sounded like you were giving her a lot more than just a hand," she muttered, "but, what I mean is… I can be, er, ladylike, too."

"Ladylike? What's the sudden worry about that?" he asked, "I told you: I don't care what you're like. I like however you are now."

"Well, I don't," she decided, "I want to be nicer to people. Maybe not just to you. Maybe not to you at all."

"Okay?" he laughed, "So why are you telling me this, then?"

"You're going to help me practice," she determined, "Come on, you can try doing my hair."

"I don't remember signing up for this," he grumbled, "Do any of you people understand that I have my own work to do during the day?"

"Just do it. You'd be doing me a favor. Plus, it's easy, once you get started," she insisted.

He sighed, "Fine. So, do I just start here, or…?"

"There?" she barked back, "Are you stupid? No, up here."

"Like that?" he removed the tie from her hair.

She breathed contentedly as the maroon locks cascaded over her face, "That's right. Now, grab some of it and start pulling it along."

"Um, right," he agreed, not knowing where to begin.

"Ow! Not so rough, you big dummy!" she lurched.

"I don't have a lot of room to work with, here," he called down.

"You can hold my shoulder, or something, if you need to," she provided.

He tried managing the strands in his hand, pulling some of it up, "It's all wound up… It's so tight."

"That's the way it's supposed to be," she rolled her eyes.

Olivia waited outside, blushing, waiting to retrieve her hairbrush. She supposed she could understand Anna's jealousy, now.

[*]

"So that's two lessons in one for today, Morgan," surmised her father, stroking a swath of his own hair back, "Be careful what you say and how you say it, and your mother is a very jealous lover."

"One of these days, I'm just going to punch you and get it over with," the taller redhead called.

"And she physically abuses your poor father," he remarked snidely.

"Even I'm starting to wonder what's the matter with you guys," the smaller redhead sighed, sitting back.

"Well, I'm sorry to leave you with more questions than answers, Morgan, but I must be on my way," he rose, producing a pair of glasses from a pocket in his cloak. Thin and steel-rimmed, he placed the ornament over the bridge of his nose.

"Get home fast tonight," his wife reminded absently, wandering out to him, "I don't know how long I'll be able to keep dinner warm."

"As fast as these legs will carry me," he assured her.

Finally noticing, she cocked an eyebrow, "Since when do you wear eyeglasses?"

"Since the physician in the castle told me I need them," he chuckled softly, "Too many years of reading tiny print into the wee hours of the night, I suppose."

"I think they make him look distinguished," Morgan noted proudly.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he bowed, pushing them up.

Anna frowned, "Don't go blind, tactician-boy. I need someone to keep telling me how pretty I am."

"Don't worry," he smiled, making for the door.

"You know saying that only makes me more worried," she sighed.

"Yeah, I do," he laughed, opening the door, "but trust me, I'll be fine."

"Do you worry a lot about father, mother?" Morgan wondered shortly after the door had been shut.

"He gives me plenty of reasons to worry, that's for sure," the taller redhead replied, putting a pondering palm to her face.

"He always looks tired, doesn't he?" Morgan persisted.

"Very," her mother agreed. She digressed, not wanting to worry her daughter about her father, "Why don't we get moving? I have a story to tell you, you know."

"Do you?" she moved away immediately, smiling, "I wanna hear it!"

"Then shake a leg," she ordered, "I'll tell you on the way up."

The pair worked quickly to complete the rest of their morning routine, transporting and stocking the cart before they were finally ready to move. As both redheads settled in next to one another, Anna began.

[*]

"Anna, my book!" he lamented with horror as a horse's hoof trod it into the mud.

"It's just some stupid bunch of paper, you jerk!" she growled back.

He flung himself to the ground to rescue it, wiping the dirtied pages to no avail. The text was ruined. "Why did you do that?!" he demanded angrily.

"Because you refuse to listen when I talk!" she snarled.

"I'm so terribly sorry I don't have time to listen to the eighteenth story about short-selling some poor sap when I'm trying to keep this army alive!" he rolled his eyes.

"You could at least pretend to care about me like you do the others!" Anna continued to argue.

"Is that what this all is about?" he bit back, "'Pay attention to me?' Really, are you that selfish?"

"Me, selfish?" she railed, "At least when people explain their life to me I act like I give a rat's ass!"

"Honestly, what the hell is your problem, woman? Every day your attitude toward me is different!" he screamed.

She jabbed a finger into his chest, "Don't you call me 'woman!'"

"I mean it!" he determined, "I don't care what you pick, but for the love of Naga, just tell me whether you think I'm your friend or a jerk!"

"I can tell you which way I'm leaning right now," she huffed.

"Just be consistent," he growled, "I can't deal with this right now, I have too much work to do!"

"That's right," she looked around, "Everybody pay attention, our savior Robin has big, important things to do that make him so much better than you!"

"What is it you want?!" he demanded, "What do you want from me? Do you want me to say you're better than I am? Fine, you are! Do you want me to tell you you've incensed me? I think you can see that you have!"

"Wh-What I want is…!" she hesitated.

He noticed, "You don't even know, do you? I don't have the patience to be a gods-damned therapist. Go get help somewhere else!"

"Insensitive, conceited blackguard!"

"Greedy, bipolar intemperate!"

They growled at one another and parted ways, throwing their hands up. Robin sat at his desk and prepared to do what he always did when he was frustrated: read. As per the usual, as if he had no other care in the world, Robin read into book after book, almost voraciously, he had shut out all visitors and had finished almost three volumes before night fell. It was at that point, nearly finished with the third volume, that Chrom drifted in to the tent.

"I… heard there was some commotion outside today," he began delicately.

"A little back-and-forth, nothing more," he suggested quietly.

"Is something going on between you and Anna?" the prince asked.

"No," he flipped the page of his book ineffectually, "And what do you care?"

"I'm just asking," he placated, "because it's easy to tell how upset this little quarrel has made you."

"What do you want, Chrom?" the tactician surmised.

"I want this conflict resolved. It won't do to have my troops fighting amongst themselves," he concluded objectively.

"It won't be a problem," he sighed, looking to the book forlornly, petitioning it for an answer.

"Just… don't stress yourself out," the prince suggested.

"As if I've got anything to complain about in the way of stress," the tactician nudged the prince with his elbow.

"Believe it or not, in a lot of ways, you're the mortar that holds this ragtag group together, Robin. We couldn't stand to be without you," he assured the tactician, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Chrom," he sighed.

"I know a warm bath always makes me feel better. Maybe you ought to try that," the prince offered.

"That's not a bad idea, actually," the tactician admitted, looking up from the book and sighing gently. He paused a moment without moving before finally announcing, "You can let go of my shoulder now, Chrom."

"Oh, right," he excused himself. Following his advice, Robin loosened and unbuttoned his cloak and headed toward the men's bathing tent.

[…]

"Um, hey," a girl's voice saluted tenuously. Anna turned her head; it was the princess, her strange pigtails bouncing alongside her head.

"Hi," she managed despondently.

"I heard some of the other girls saying you and Robin got into a little argument today," Lissa explained.

"Oh, yeah," Anna nodded as if she barely remembered, "it was just this whole silly thing…"

"Are you feeling all right?" the princess wondered.

"I'm fine," the redhead dissuaded.

Lissa folded her arms, "We both know that's not true."

Anna copied her, "No, I'm fine." She couldn't keep her eyes from falling as she threw out, "Why should one little scuffle with that moronic tactician of ours have me all broken up?"

"I don't know," the blonde girl touted, "Why?"

"I- That's not…!" Anna found herself too fatigued for arguing, "Just leave me alone."

The little princess took up an instructive tone, "Look, it's obvious you guys enjoy each other's company, so we really need to patch things up between you two posthaste, okay? You two parting would be a real travesty."

"There's nothing between us!" scolded the redhead in retaliation.

"Why do I not believe that?" Lissa rapped a finger off of her temple.

"I really don't need this right now," Anna sighed, "just leave me be."

"Fine," the blonde consented at length, "but you ought to take a bath or something to ease your nerves."

Anna paused and looked at her feet as she thought, "You know, that might not be a bad idea…"

[…]

The tactician felt even more relief than he had expected, entering the small, rather humid tent that sported a rather large porcelain tub. The Shepherds had carried this thing with them all the time, but he had never really taken advantage of it, usually preferring to soak in river water when it was made available. This, however, he concluded, was much more pleasant, simply resting in the pool of warm water, washing himself occasionally. It was all but perfect, and yet, the tactician couldn't help but to feel unsettled. Perhaps it had been Anna, the tactician couldn't decide, floating in the water, as the answer refused to come to him. Patiently soaking another few minutes, he heard the sound of a twig snapping by the tent, followed by a muffled curse. Rolling his eyes, Robin stood out of the bath and quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and wandered forward to find the source of the noise.

[…]

Anna rubbed her shoulder. She was frustrated, she was sure she hadn't felt this sore the previous day, and it wasn't as if she were being worked to the bone around camp, so why could she not surmount the feeling of aches all over her body that seemed to have sprung from nowhere. The bathwater was relaxing, but there was no quieting the irritating cries of her muscles. Fearing she was losing her mind, the redhead splashed a bit of water on her face. No good, she was perfectly awake and sane, and the pain was still present. As she neared her wit's end, she heard a rustling of leaves outside the tent, followed by the voice of a man cursing under his breath. Feeling equal parts indignant and annoyed, Anna rose from the tub and hastily wound a towel around her torso, stepping out to confront the peeping Tom.

[…]

Tharja inhaled as quietly as she could. Damn the terrain around this camp, she sighed to herself. It had been such a perfect evening, Robin had been taking his first bath in ages, and she could make use of her talents for sneaking and conjuring to get a good look at the tactician for quite some time. Her plan had been working perfectly (she had already caught at least two undistracted glimpses of the tactician's assets and was anything but displeased) until that damnable bit of foliage had ruined everything. Now, she waited, peering around the corner of the tent to watch as the young man searched after her, only a towel to cover himself. If the circumstances were different, Tharja chuckled to herself, this would be a dream come true. At last, an opportunity presented itself and the dark mage ducked over to another nearby tent, where she promptly felt a blow to her head and crumpled to the ground.

"As if this could get any worse!" grumbled a man's voice, "Watch where you're goin', Sunshine!"

That idiot thief again, of all places. "You watch where _you're_ going, you fool!" she chided, rubbing her forehead.

"Sorry to ruin your creepy bath spying, girly, but I gotta get a move on," he huffed, trying to push her aside.

"What, someone catch you, too?" the dark mage supposed.

"I'm not a weirdo," he indicated himself with his thumb, "I just need to get outta here."

"You had to have done _something_," Tharja persisted.

"No, nothing, now kindly shut up!" he demanded with a loud whisper, preparing to make a run for it.

"You'd do well to mind your manners, thief," the raven-haired girl cautioned him.

"Why? It's not like your curses do anything to me," he whispered pridefully.

"No, but…" she kicked him in the groin, dropping the thief to the ground. "A little… crass, perhaps," she snickered, "but always effective."

"How the hell did I wind up here?" he groaned.

"So, who were you spying on?" demanded the dark mage.

"N-No one!" he refuted.

"Oh, there goes that redheaded girl Robin likes. Guess I have my answer," she surmised.

"I-I wasn't spying on her!" he insisted.

"Oh? Then why were you by the women's bathing tent?" she allowed.

"I didn't have my eye on Red, but… she has a rather sizeable stash that she almost never leaves unattended…" he noted.

"I should have figured," Tharja rolled her eyes, "you're not even smart enough to be peeping at women. You're just a dirty thief, looking for the first coin he can get his hands on."

"Have you seen the bag that girl lugs around? She wouldn't miss a couple thousand gold," the thief covered. Tharja sighed in distaste. They both halted their breathing as a set of footsteps drew near. "Nice goin', Sunshine. Now we're both screwed," the thief strained, gritting his teeth.

"Don't be so hasty, you imbecile!" she strained back, "I can… there's a spell…"

"We don't have time for that!" he argued. The footsteps had doubled and were drawing nearer, until, suddenly, a miracle.

"Robin?"

"Anna?"

"What are you…" the redhead spoke first, "Wait, was it you? You pervert, I ought to—"

"I didn't do anything!" he provided, "I just heard a noise out here and decided to go have a look."

"Huh," she drew back, "that's why I'm out here, too."

"Maybe we're looking for the same person," Robin supposed, hazarding another scan of the area.

"Maybe," she agreed absentmindedly. For a moment, the two stared at one another, towels wrapped around each, standing in the darkness, there was quiet, save for a few bugs chirping to create a steady rhythm of low noise.

"Anna…"

"Robin…"

They both began, stopped, and looked embarrassed. Anna allowed the tactician to finish, "You were right, Anna. I don't always give the same attention to everyone, and that's not fair. I feel like I have a lot of work, but other people have their own troubles, and I should do a better job trying to listen and help, rather than be absorbed with my own affairs."

"No, you were right, Robin," she sighed, "I've been acting strange, impulsive, and, above all, selfish. It wasn't right of me to try to monopolize your time like that. You do a lot of important work, yourself, and I need to be mindful of the fact that sometimes you, and others, really just don't have the time for idle conversation. I should be more respectful of others' wishes." She paused, relieved to have it off her mind, then looked up, "Forgive me?"

"Of course, Anna," he nodded genially, "I hope you can forgive me, as well." He sighed, too, and laughed quietly, scratching his exposed chest briefly, "But look at us, we must seem a pair of lunatics, standing out here half-naked like this."

She giggled, "Yeah, I suppose that noise must have been nothing. And we do look a sight."

"Anna?" Robin hoped through the dark.

"Yeah?"

"Still friends?" he smiled.

"The best," she reciprocated, moving to hug him. She embraced him tightly for a moment, then remembered their current states of dishabille and pushed away, murmuring, "This is awkward."

"Er, anyway," the tactician looked away, scratching the back of his neck, "Good night, Anna."

"Right," she nodded, "Good night, Robin." And they returned to the bathing tents. At least, that was what the dark mage and thief lying in wait hoped, but as they sat a few minutes longer, they heard a set of footprints approaching their position.

"Sunshine! Do somethin', now!" Gaius rasped, hearing the merchant girl's footsteps not more than a foot away.

"Help me!" she pleaded, "Concentrate on sending her somewhere else, the first place you can think of!" He closed his eyes and, presumably, complied. Tharja muttered the incantation as quick as she could ever recall in all her life, and, suddenly, the footsteps stopped.

"Phew," Gaius sighed aloud, wiping his forehead, "That was a nice save, there, Sunshine."

"Where did you think of sending her?" Tharja wondered.

"Um… does it matter?" he looked askance. The question was answered as a pair of shouts arose from the tent next to them.

"Anna, what the hell?!"

"Robin?! How did I—what?! Oh, gods!"

"What are you doing in here?!"

"I don't know! I didn't-!"

"Okay, okay, how are we going to sort this out?"

"C-Close your eyes, or something! If you look down, I swear I'll break you like a twig!"

"_You_ showed up in _my_ bath! I should be outraged!"

"Please tell me that's your foot…"

Tharja shut her eyes and shook, "The… men's bath?! That was the first place you thought of sending her?!"

"The first one that came to mind, yeah," Gaius admitted nervously.

"I'll kill you for this later, for now, we need to get out of here," she affirmed, rising and darting away.

"You get out first!"

"Why me?! It's my bath!"

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Robin: as a woman, I have a lot more to lose, here!"

"What do you mean? You'd cover your eyes, too, wouldn't you?!"

"Get out, for chivalry's sake, you bastard!"

"Not a chance, you get out!"

[*]

"So… how did you resolve that?" Morgan wondered.

"That's a whole other story, I'll save it for another day," her mother decided. "Thanks for your help, as always, Morgan."

"Sure thing, mom," the girl smiled, "Boy, today went fast, didn't it?"

"You can say that again," her mother agreed.

Morgan cocked an eyebrow, "Um… 'Boy, today went—'"

"I didn't mean literally," Anna sighed, "Come on, I have to get dinner ready for your father."

"Right," she nodded, still perplexed by the previous request. What else could she have meant?


	11. Marginal Cost

XI

"Dinner was delicious," the former tactician wiped his mouth and cradled his wife into himself as they lay down, "Thank you, honey."

"Oh, you know me," she sighed contentedly, "I do what I can."

He laughed gently and remarked warmly, "You really never do cease to surprise me."

"A merchant is nothing without a couple of tricks up her sleeve," the redhead concurred proudly.

"And I'd be nothing without my merchant girl," he grinned playfully, pulling her closer. He paused a moment, however, and turned his head away to cough, afterward promptly wiping his face.

"Are you okay?" she wondered, trying to push herself over his torso to look at his face.

"Fine," he dismissed, coughing again, "I'm just... fine."

She frowned and grasped his chin, turning his face back to her, "Tsk. You don't look fine."

"Ouch. That was kind of unnecessary," he smiled through the darkness.

"I'm being serious," she rolled her eyes, "Look at the bags under your eyes. You don't look well at all, Robin. Even your daughter has started to notice it, and now you've got her worried, as well."

"Morgan's worried about me?" he pondered.

"I thought I put these concerns behind me when we left the Shepherds, but it seems you're just dead-set on working yourself into the ground," Anna huffed.

"I didn't know Morgan was troubled," he persisted, disappointed, "But what am I supposed to do? I can't just stop working altogether."

"You can't?" Anna raised an eyebrow sarcastically.

"You know it's not in my nature, Anna," he explained.

"I know, I know," she sighed, "But maybe you ought to start taking more frequent personal days. I know back in the day Chrom was finding every reason he could to get you out of the castle."

"He was?" Robin lifted his head.

"Yeah, all the time. He said you could never see the world and live for yourself being all cooped up in there," Anna recalled.

"I guess I have something to talk with him about tomorrow," the former tactician discerned.

"Wait," she insisted, "the point is, you should take more time to just be... open, you know? Live a little."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he admitted earnestly, staring back.

"Look, Morgan's going to speak with some of the other Shepherds' children tomorrow, maybe we could take that time to live like we used to," the redhead provided.

"Waking up naked and being served meals in bed? I could go for that," he smiled.

"You are hopeless," she rolled her eyes, also smiling, and shoved his shoulder.

"Look, if you want to do that, honey, it's fine by me," he relaxed, "We'll act just like a normal married couple."

"As if you could ever act normal," the merchant girl dismissed, settling her head back down next to his.

"I'm very normal," he declared indignantly, "you're the one who's always being weird."

"And fun, and spontaneous, and likeable, and attractive..." she listed.

"Yeah," he smiled, keeping the same tone, "why have you got to be so weird?"

"You're pretty out there yourself, tactician-boy," she decided, burying her face into his neck and shoulder.

"I know," he chuckled, "funny how we sort of balance each other out, isn't it?"

"Good night, Robin," she declared more directly, slapping her palm over his mouth.

"Gooph nigh," he mumbled through her fingers, kissing the palm before shutting his eyes.

[...]

"Now, you're sure you'll be okay?" her father asked, looking her over.

"I'm a young woman, daddy," she sighed, "I can take care of myself."

"I just want you to be careful," he couldn't help but smile as he finished looking at her. She had ditched her tactician's robes for this special occasion and was now wearing a lovely salmon-colored shirt and some fine tan trousers, with a plethora of accessories from her mother's apparently infinite collection scattered about her arms, as well as the rest of her person, looking altogether very presentable and, he thought, quite pretty, if a bit boyish, though that didn't bother him much. At any rate, he noted with some discomfort that the tightness of the shirt made her gender particularly clear.

"I'm going to meet with my friends, daddy," she laughed, "not a bunch of strangers."

Robin melted at her melodious little laugh. She was far too adorable for him to be anything but submissive, "I know, sweetheart. I guess your dad is just overprotective."

"I suppose there are worse things you could be," she replied snidely in a way that reflected her father's eyes and her mother's smile.

"Any boy touches you, you come back to me and I'll see the flesh rent from his bones, okay?" he said casually.

"You worry me sometimes, father," her face fell into horror.

"Just saying," he hummed musically, getting out of her way.

"Be back by sundown," her mother ordered, then lost her composure and cooed, "Ooh, you look so cute!"

She giggled at her parents, "Thanks, mom. And, weird as it was, I appreciate the offer, dad." Her father saluted quietly from across the room. "I promise I won't stay out too late," she nodded, stepping out the door.

"Well, now," Anna sighed as she shut the door, not having prepared a conclusion.

"What's first on the 'normal married couple' agenda?" her husband wondered.

"I don't know," she sighed, sitting down, "is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Nothing that wouldn't bore the hell out of both of us," he declared flatly, also seating himself.

She sighed, "Me too."

"Well..." her husband supposed, "We just ate, so that's out..."

Anna nodded, also thinking, "I told Morgan the story about the fight."

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," he scoffed.

"The one that ended with the baths?" she elaborated.

"Oh, that one," he recalled, "er... how far did you get into that?"

"I stopped at the important bit," she smiled knowingly.

He breathed with relief, "Good." They sat in silence another minute before he spoke up again, "Do you remember that discussion we had after that? About the thing in your ledger?"

"The family ledger?" she specified, "I don't really recall what you mean."

"I've been exploring it a bit in my off time, I came to you asking..."

[*]

"Hey, Anna. Looking at that ledger of yours again?" the tactician greeted her affably. She didn't respond. He took a step further into the room and delcared more loudly, "Anna?"

"W-What?" she finally broke her concentration from the page, "Oh, Robin. Good timing."

"Something up?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"I was reading more from one of my sisters, the same one who married Jake, and I found a pretty interesting story," she detailed.

"Really?" the tactician responded with interest, "You look a bit disturbed. What was it about?"

"Well... this sister of mine, she lived on a whole other continent, called Elibe," Anna began, "and she was dining at an inn a port town called Badon when she met this group of ragtag soldiers, all of them led by three nobles."

"Sounds a bit like the Shepherds," Robin smiled, glancing down at the page.

"Funny you should say that..." Anna remarked, her voice becoming more distressed, "My sister writes that among this group was a tactician, but she never really got the chance to speak with him. According to most of the soldiers, that tactician simply appeared several weeks prior and was immediately accepted by the nobles, like they were old friends. This particular tactician had torn up the land with this group of soldiers, beating down everyone in his path with his superior strategies, overcoming the most treacherous of odds."

"Hm," Robin smiled, allowing his mind to wander, "I should like to meet him and compare notes."

"Robin..." Anna still seemed frightened, "You haven't even heard the strangest bit. My sister finally got ahold of one of the nobles, a young woman who was particularly skilled at the blade, and asked about the tactician. Do you know how she replied?" Robin shook his head. Anna breathed and lowered her voice dramatically, "She said she found him in a field, absent his memories of the past."

"W-What?" the tactician started.

"Robin, do you think it's possible... this has all happened before? A tactician without memory, waking up and finding himself in the company of an accomplished swordswoman?" Anna pleaded.

"It is remarkably similar," he sighed, "but how old is that story?"

"Hard to say," she pouted, "time gets a little hard to keep track of in these collections of personal anecdotes."

"Did your sister provide any physical description of the tactician?" Robin hoped.

The redhead shook her head, "No, she never got a look at him. She only knows he was male."

"How bizarre," Robin remarked absently, "How far away is this 'Elibe?'"

"I don't know, I've never been," she replied simply.

"Perhaps there's even more to my history than I thought," the tactician sat down, apparently overwhelmed by the thought, "Did this tactician and noblewoman ever have some sort of relationship?"

"I don't know anything outside of what I told you, Robin," Anna reaffirmed.

"Gods forgive me..." Robin stared at the ground, "What if I have a wife? What if I have _children_?"

"Look," the redhead assuaged, "I brought it up because it's interestingly coincidental, but I think you're reading too far into it."

He creased his brow in frustration, "You don't understand, Anna! This is the first lead I've had! The _only_ lead I've had! Perhaps my parents are in this 'Elibe,' perhaps I've old friends there...!"

"Robin, Robin!" she shouted, "Settle down, okay? I don't think any of that is very likely, but even if it were, would you really abandon everything you have here?"

He paused, shocked, "N-No... of course not. The Shepherds have meant everything to me... but, Anna, try to understand my position, here. If you thought you might only have a very small opportunity to meet parents, friends, and even a family- a spouse and children- you couldn't remember meeting, wouldn't you want to take even that slimmest of chances?"

"Of course I can sympathize, Robin, but..." Anna looked away, "Why are you so set on having a wife and children?"

"If they exist, Anna, I'd feel absolutely horrid for having forgotten my duties to them," he explained.

"But... wouldn't you rather decide your family affairs for yourself, rather than have them determined for you? Anna hoped.

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"Y-You know," she pressed her index fingers together, looking away sheepishly, "aren't there people you've grown to like around here, as well?"

"Oh," he realized, "I... I don't... Hrm, I'm not sure. I didn't even think about that..."

"If you ask me," Anna said, slowly shutting the ledger, "this entry had to have been written some time ago, and the people within its pages have very likely moved on. Maybe it's better to let the past stay in the past."

"M-Maybe..." the tactician looked disappointed, "but... I still wonder..."

"It's a lot more fun to live for here and now, wouldn't you say?" she insisted.

"...There is no time like the present," he decided quietly.

She put a hand on his shoulder, "No one hopes you'll find your parents more than I do, tactician-boy, but sometimes... well, there's a time to let things go, isn't there?"

"I suppose," he nodded, then turned to her, smiling, "and to move on to something new that can completely change one's view of things."

"Very wisely put," the redhead nodded, "Care to take a little stroll out on the plains with me? You know how I like to wander."

He paused, afflicted by something, then returned, "Of course. You're a real free spirit."

She stared back at him questioningly, "What was that?"

"Nothing," he dismissed, taking her along by the hand, "I was just... reminded of something. At any rate, yes, let's walk. I want to chat with you more. I feel like we don't get enough chances to speak to one another." She shrugged and nodded, following the tactician along with a bemused smile.

[*]

"So... you found out something more?" Anna inquired hesitantly.

"Yes, I did some digging, like I said, but it's not so dramatic a revelation as you might think," he smiled lightly, "I got a name on our mystery tactician: Mark."

"Mark? Apt," Anna surmised, reserving most of her comment.

"I don't think he has any relation to me," the former tactician remarked softly, "especially knowing what I know now about my heritage."

"I didn't think so," the redhead compounded more happily, "it was quite the coincidence, though."

"It was," he added uselessly. The pair sat another minute, not exchanging words.

"I rather like that name, though," Anna admitted, "If I had a son, maybe that's what I'd name him."

"We'll keep it in mind, then," Robin collected himself, then shortly sighed, "Gods, but this 'normal' thing is boring, isn't it?"

"Yes, thank you," Anna sighed with relief, "I don't know how any other woman can stand it! Please, for the love of all the gods, make a sarcastic remark at me!"

"Obviously we were headed in different directions with that, but..." Robin looked askance.

Anna raised an eyebrow, "Huh? What are you playing at?"

"It doesn't matter," he blushed.

"Bah!" she scoffed jokingly, "Chrom was right, you are an old lech."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he crossed his arms in faked indignity.

"We can't go one morning without your mind drifting to country matters, can we?" she pointed out.

"Well, can you blame me?" he blushed, gesturing back to her.

"Flattery will only get you so far," she wagged her finger at him with admonishment, "Lucky for you I don't feel much like punishing your right now."

"What do you feel like doing, then?" he wondered, looking away.

"...Can I tell you something? Something that's been bugging me a bit?" Anna allowed with a whisper.

"Of course, honey. What's going on?" he leaned in, concerned.

"...I don't actually remember how that story with the baths ends. How _did_ we get past that little situation?" she admitted, putting a finger to her chin.

"You don't remember?" she had caught his interest, "That was sort of an odd night, wasn't it? I have a bit of trouble remembering it myself."

"Darn, I wanted to hear where that went..." she lamented.

"I... remember some of it," he continued, "but not all. I can tell you what I do remember."

"I'd love to hear it," she prepared herself, nodding happily.

"All right, let's see..."

[*]

Robin couldn't move his face; he was absolutely mortified, staring back at the young redheaded woman who was also without her clothes.

"D-Don't just stand there gawking like an imbecile! Do something!" she chided, covering her chest with her folded arms.

"F-Fine," he sighed, his cheeks bright red, "I'll get out, but you have to cover your eyes."

"I'm not moving my arms," she determined, reminding him of their position.

"W-Well, what do you want me to do, stumble out of the tub with my eyes covered?" he bit back. She acquiesced through silence. "N-No! I wasn't offering that! How am I going to find a towel to cover myself, then?"

"Why are you so worried, what's the worst that's going to happen to you?" she barked.

"I'll be seen naked, same as you!" he responded obviously.

"So what?" she retorted.

"So what? Wouldn't that bother you?" he yelled.

"Yeah, but I'm a woman, Robin. If anyone sees me naked, I could never look them in the eyes again, but, you... as a man, you ought to celebrate having a woman look at you naked," she explained.

"Th-That's stupid! Why should the fidelity of your body be any greater than mine?" the tactician scolded.

"Oh, make a sacrifice, you selfish bastard!" she railed.

He paused, choosing not to respond, then began, softly, "We haven't really forgiven each other, have we?"

"What?" she shook her head, "Robin, let's deal with the most exigent problem first."

"I think that _is_ the most exigent problem," he reported, "we have to get this sorted out."

"Can we do it when there isn't danger of exposing myself?" she growled.

He sighed and shook his head, then reclined back in the tub, "I'm not going to try to hide anything anymore."

"Well, that's fine and dandy for you," the redhead doubled back, "but some of us still have a problem with this!"

"Just get out, I'll cover my eyes, I swear," he put a hand on his chest.

"I don't trust you," she disagreed.

"Look, something has to give, here, doesn't it?" he demanded frustratedly, "Why can't you work with me?"

"Because I'm still mad at you!" she surprised herself with the answer.

He nodded, eyes shut, "I thought so. Maybe we ought to just talk this through."

"I don't have time for therapy!" she chided him.

"And why not? If you were that concerned, you'd have just jumped out and run away by now," he guessed.

She leered at him angrily, "So whaddya suggest we do, doc? Just sit here until we feel better, and by then it won't matter?"

He looked away, "...That was more or less the plan, yes."

"I hate you," she grumbled and sat back in the tub, delicately positioning one arm and the opposite hand to cover herself.

"I'm going to ask you a serious question, Anna," he stated with a comforting monotone.

The merchant remained displeased, "What is it?"

"Do you like me?" he posed simply.

"What?" she rolled her eyes, "That's a broad gods-damn question, Robin."

"We've got time," the tactician noted.

She looked away, still sighing, "It's... Of course I _like_ you, but... I dunno, you can be frustrating sometimes... but, then, I imagine, so can I..."

"So what's the problem?" he perpetuated.

The redhead looked up, "Honestly? I'm not sure. You confuse me so much, I feel I dislike you."

"I 'confuse' you?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"I mean... you don't act like anyone I've ever met. You aren't trying to work me for a discount, or for a loan, and when you talk to me, you express an interest in... _me_. I... I don't really know how to react to that," she elaborated.

"You mean nobody's ever been nice to you before?" he half-smiled.

"No," she rejected, "people have been nice to me, but... I don't know that any of the have... well, you know... cared for me. Like, l-... l-l..." The redhead struggled with the word.

"Like I do?" he tried to help her.

She was relieved to find escape, if not disappointed that he was wrong, "Yeah. Something like that. But, what's got you all upset at me?"

"I was upset at you for being upset with me," Robin described plainly.

"Well, that's not fair, is it? I had a good enough reason to be upset with you," she determined.

"Maybe," he paused, lost in his thoughts, "You know, you confuse me a lot, too, Anna. I'm not sure I understand why you seem to care about me, either."

"Maybe I'm just schmoozing you for preferential treatment," she joked, but did not smile.

"But that's not it, is it?" he insisted.

"Sometimes..." she began, aloof, "A girl's just got to have her secrets, Robin. Merchants most especially. That's just how it is, okay?"

"Wouldn't it be better if there weren't any secrets between us, though?" he wondered aloud.

"If you're trying to convince me to move, you're really asking to get hit right about now," she huffed.

"I don't mean that," he frowned quickly, "I just mean, wouldn't you feel better having a... confidant, or something? Someone to vent your worst frustrations to?"

"I guess I could see how that could be sort of cathartic," she admitted, looking up to think.

He smiled and sighed happily, "I know nothing's ever going to keep us from arguing, Anna, but I don't think I could sleep knowing you were still mad at me. Can we make a promise? A promise to never go to bed angry? To always make up with each other, no matter how bad things get?"

"You and your crazy ideas," the redhead rolled her eyes and giggled.

"I mean it. Come on, put 'er there," he insisted, outstretching his hand. She took it, smiling sardonically. It took the both of them only a few moments to realize what she had just done. It took fewer still for them to be distracted by the tent flap parting.

"Robin! I go to the trouble of trying to find you all night, and here you are with this... hussy!" the dark mage huffed with incredulity as she stood in the doorway.

"Wha-? Tharja! Get out of here!" he jumped.

"Why should I?" she stamped her foot.

"Because this is the men's bath!" he exclaimed.

"Doesn't seem to matter much to the money-hungry woman you were just oggling," she persisted.

"I-I wasn't... That was an accident!" he provided.

"Was it?" Anna wondered angrily.

"L-Look, the both of you, I don't know how in the hell I ended up in this position tonight, but I can tell you, I didn't plan for any of this...!" he put his hands up.

"Well," a frightening grin developed on the dark mage's face, "Let's just wait it out until morning, and see how that goes."

"M-Morning?" Robin called back, but by the time the word had left his lips, he felt his eyelids becoming quite heavy, and before long could see nothing but blackness.

[...]

Chrom marched toward the bathing tent. He sighed to himself, if it wasn't one thing around this camp, it was another, and he could guess quite well who he was going to find. He had been led to the tent early in the morning when Tharja complained that she hadn't seen the Shepherds' tactician since the previous evening, even waiting for him to return to bed, in the unsettling way that she did. Already, Chrom knew this would be a sight, noticing the other Shepherds gathered around the canvas tent, snickering and blushing amongst themselves. He kept walking and parted the flap, rolling his eyes, "Of course... Robin?"

The pair woke up, each moving slightly. Chrom paused and covered his eyes, not before receiving a full view of the merchant girl's rear end, also glimpsing her exposed chest pressing up against that of the tactician, whom the young lord also lamented seeing disrobed below the waist. Fortunately, he needed to do nothing, as he heard a slap ring out and the tactician's murmur of pain. "Come on, you know for a fact I didn't do this!" he heard the tactician beg.

"Chrom?" the redhead did her best to sink into the water without drawing any closer to the tactician, "A towel, maybe?"

"I don't..." he looked around, no towels in sight. Tharja was cackling to herself.

"Oh, I give up," Robin sighed, standing out of the tub, "It's really not worth the effort, anymore." He sauntered angrily over to the other end of the tent, causing Chrom to step back and avert his eyes again. With a sigh, he presented his cloak to the redheaded woman.

"D-Don't you need this?" she hesitated.

"Not more than you. Go on, cover yourself and we can get this all over with a lot faster," he held it to her again and placed a hand over his eyes.

She leapt out of the water and wrapped the garment around herself. "Okay," he lowered his hand, "Now what are you going to do?"

"Chrom," Robin asked, "Are there still clean sets of clothes in my tent?"

"How should I know?" he rolled his eyes, which were still covered.

He sighed again and looked down, preparing himself, then declared, "Fine. It doesn't matter," and strode directly out of the tent, marching non-stop to his own, completely unclothed.

"Can I please just get one normal day?" the prince pleaded to no one in particular. Anna chose not to answer and walked out shortly behind the tactician.

[*]

"HA-ha!" the merchant laughed, "You just walked out there completely naked?"

"I had no choice," he blushed.

"Well," the redhead mused more softly, "It was... brave- I guess that's the word- brave of you to step out in the buff so I didn't have to."

"If that doesn't prove I'd do anything for you, I don't know what will," he laughed, sitting back.

"Did you get a good look at them?" the redhead smirked coyly.

"Did you?" he pushed back.

"What do you mean?" she cocked an eyebrow.

"Don't play dumb," he touted, "Your eyes aren't so furtive as you might think."

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about," she looked away.

"Whatever you say, honey," he shrugged.

"Though, this has made me think of a new topic for conversation..." the merchant declared alluringly.

"And what's that?" he wondered.

"Care to see what sort of a difference marriage makes for that same situation?" she grinned provocatively.

"Sounds like a plan," he acquiesced, "Just make sure we have some towels this time."

"Oh, don't be so shy," she patted his back as they stood together, "You walked past a crowd butt-naked once, didn't you? Surely you can do it again."

"Only if we fall asleep again," he teased.

"I'm... glad," Anna sighed, kissing him, "Glad that you made me able to trust you."

"I knew it would work," he smirked.

"And glad I'm the only member of the Shepherds who gets to look _and_ touch," she giggled.

"Have I mentioned I love you?" he kissed her forehead, cradling her neck as they made their way to the bath.


End file.
